Age of Heroes
by Velkyn Karma
Summary: The apocalypse has come and gone and the Age of Heroes is long since over. There's not much left to live for, but Wally's never been one to give up without trying, and maybe there are still a few miracles—and heroes—left in the world. A zombie apocalypse AU for the YJ Anon Meme. Features Wally and Connor, but other S1 characters make appearances too. Friendship only, no pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Age of Heroes**

A fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Summary:** The apocalypse has come and gone and the Age of Heroes is long since over. There's not much left to live for, but Wally's never been one to give up without trying, and maybe there are still a few miracles—and heroes—left in the world. A zombie apocalypse AU for the YJ Anon Meme. Mostly features Wally and Connor, but other S1 characters will make appearances as well. Friendship only, no pairings.

**Prompt: **_"Wally lives in a world were surviving is all that matters. He has been alone since the out break started while he was a road trip by himself a year ago, now his only reason to live is to find his family and friends. That is tell one day when he searching through a place called 'Cambas' for supplies when he stumbles onto a teenager in a pod...  
_(The rest of the prompt removed because it contains some **spoilers**)

**Note:** I couldn't resist _zombies. _Anyway, the timeline was shifted around a bit...this story assumes that Project Kr is begun in 2007 (not 2010) and that the outbreak begins in the same year. This means Wally does not have his powers (because feeding his uber-metabolism in a post-apocalyptic wasteland would be pretty much impossible). The fic itself takes place in 2011, four years after the outbreak begins. A lot of the details are pretty heavily inspired by Max Brooks' _World War Z _too, so some of the stuff might sound familiar. It's all based on **Season 1 **of Young Justice only, since I have not watched Season 2.

**Warnings**: Teensy bit of language, some blood and gore (mostly zombie-related), occasional creepy psychological stuff (again, mostly zombie-related), occasional dark outlooks on life and rather morbid humor (it is the apocalypse). Rated M mostly to be safe (for the aforementioned zombie blood and gore).

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"As long as zombies and an apocalypse are going on, then it's officially a zombie apocalypse."  
~ _Zero Punctuation, _Yahtzee

* * *

As the sun came up one cool May morning, Wally West realized he'd been doing this for exactly four years to the day now.

He honestly couldn't even believe it had been _that _long. It felt like so much longer, like decades even, since the outbreak began on Z-day and the world went straight to hell. And the worst part was, up until that point, everything had been going so _well. _He remembered fondly back then, when he'd _just _discovered that his aunt Iris' fiancee, Barry Allen, was none other than _the Flash himself. _He'd been exhilarated to discover his heroic idol was soon to become family.

Uncle Barry—he'd already started calling him that, even if the wedding hadn't happened yet—had promised to tell him some first-hand stories about the Flash's many exploits when Wally returned from the school trip to Washington, D.C. Which had promised to be a fun trip, too, because it would be a whole week on his own, without his parents telling him what to do, and for a twelve year old nothing was more awesome than that. A great field trip, followed by getting the chance to hang out with his amazing super-hero uncle—what could be better?

Except he never made it home. Two days into his school field trip, the outbreak had started, and Wally never saw his parents or his aunt or his soon-to-be-uncle again.

Nobody knew where the zombies came from, or why. Wally heard all sorts of theories in the past: disgruntled super-villains, aliens, biochemical warfare, curses (he always scoffed at that last one). The truth was, nobody really _cared _anymore, either. The end happened and the zeds were there to stay. Life was hard, learn to deal with it or die.

There'd been a _lot _of dying.

Things happened so fast back then, the outbreak and the panic spread too rapidly, and there was no way to get home. The school teachers and chaperones tried shipping the school kids to a sort-of fortified location near Gotham City with hundreds of other kids that the country was desperate to protect, but it didn't last long, and neither did his teachers. Eventually the place was overrun, the walking dead swarming the gates, breaking down doors, and feasting on flesh, and only the fastest, smartest, most adaptable kids lived through it.

Wally was one of them. He taught himself how to survive fairly quickly, out of pure necessity. He'd always been pretty smart, and he'd always been a decent runner—never quite on the Flash level, although wouldn't _that _be awesome, to have super speed—but enough to outrun shambling animated corpses, at least. He learned how to feed himself, how to travel safely, when to run and (much rarer) when to fight.

And most important, he taught himself to hold on to a single, all important goal, and live for it. Because the world now was simply too depressing to try and live through, a post-apocalyptic wasteland of broken memories and old, false truths, and if a person didn't have _something _to keep going for it wasn't worth trying.

For Wally, his goal was simple: he would find his family again. He would find his mom and his dad and Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry and he wouldn't stop searching for them until he did. Which meant he had to keep on surviving, so that he could see them again.

So he did. And he had. And four years later was _still _surviving and had no intentions of giving up any time in the near future.

_But it is sort of ironic, _Wally reflected, staring in the distance carefully through a pair of binoculars he'd stolen from a camping store years ago, _how four years later to the day I'm back where it all started for me. _Washington D.C. sprawled out in front of him, impressive in its own depressing apocalyptic way with any number of broken houses, broken monuments, and broken historical buildings. It was an old, haunting reminder that a grand civilization had once existed here, full of history and innovation and progress.

Now it was full of nothing but corpses, the kind that moved and the kind that didn't. And supplies. Lots and lots of supplies, probably, if one knew where to look. You just had to avoid the _obvious _targets, which would have been picked clean long ago.

Wally considered his options carefully. He had to be careful, because the higher the density of buildings and the former population, the higher the chances one would run into a pack of wandering, hungry zombies. Really, it would be smarter of him to skip D.C. entirely and keep on heading for the closest settlement of still _living _moving bodies. But he needed the supplies, both for himself and as tradable goods for when he _did _reach a settlement. So before he could second-guess his decision he turned, stuffed his binoculars back into his ratty camping backpack, and hopped on the abandoned utility bike he'd found down in Florida two months ago, coasting down the first of the abandoned streets.

_Just a quick look, _he promised himself. _If you see any zombies you pedal like crazy and get the heck out of here. _

But for a while D.C. didn't have much of anything to offer Wally, other than a massive case of the creeps. The teenager saw signs of people passing through, but most of them were old, so old he wasn't even sure if they were of the living or dead variety of human. He kept his eyes and ears strained, but saw nor heard any sign of zombies, no telltale moans or shuffling bodies. Wally knew better than to jinx his luck, and travelled as silently as possible through the streets, keeping an eye out for possible scavenging opportunities. But there weren't any of those left, either; most of the shops and homes he passed have long since been picked clean by other opportunistic survivors like himself, with all traces of food, clothing, blankets, medical supplies, drugs, weaponry, tools, batteries, fuel, rope, and camping supplies completely gone.

Wally snorted at what _did _remain behind. None of the cash registers were cracked open, still containing hundreds of dusty dollars, and the houses were all still filled with entertainment systems, wide-screen televisions, souped-up desktop computers, and surround-sound stereo systems. Four years ago, a veritable fortune's worth of cash and merchandise—today, absolutely worthless. Money went out of style years ago; trade was the new currency.

Wally poked around the houses and shops a little longer, but the more he stayed in once-great capital, tip-toeing around the dead streets that had once been so heavily populated, the more he began to grow nervous. Every second he spent there was another second he could be discovered by the zeds, and if he got himself trapped in a house or shop while scavenging he was as good as dead. The search was rapidly becoming pointless; after hunting for hours he had still failed to find anything of use. Better to cut his losses and run now, while he still had a chance, than to die looking for something that wasn't there.

It was a frustrating conclusion to come to, but Wally reminded himself again of his promise: _stay alive, I have to find them again. _So he grimaced, and turned his bike towards the only bridge still standing, hoping to make it across the water and put some distance between himself and D.C. while he still had a full day ahead of him.

That was when he spotted the sign, as he zipped past it: _Cadmus, Advanced Laboratory Research. _

That gave him pause, and he screeched to a halt on his bike, spinning it around to stare back at the building he'd just shot past. It looked innocuous enough, a plain two-story building that was still in relatively good repair. It seemed inevitable that somebody already would have gone through it ages ago, though. Labs could be dangerous, since a lot of the outbreaks appeared to have originated or gotten worse in them, but they could also be a treasure-trove of valuable goods, which usually made the risk worth it.

_It's stupid, _Wally told himself. _I should leave. This isn't worth it. It'll be ransacked already. _But he _had _to try, as long as he was here. So he left his bike leaning up against the wall, slipped out his weapon of choice—a sturdy crowbar he'd found last year in Virginia somewhere—and carefully levered his way past the broken outer door, heart hammering.

No moaning and shuffling met his ears immediately, but it was dark inside, even though it was nearly noon outside. Like most of America, electricity had stopped working a long time ago here. Wally pulled a flashlight out of his bag, hoping he found more batteries for it while he was here because he was running low on spares, and explored, always keeping one hand on the crowbar at all times.

Like he'd suspected, the building had been picked clean a long time ago. There was once-fancy-looking furniture, a number of computer frames and towers, a few tattered photographs and whiteboards stuck to the walls, and even a monthly calendar, still dated May 2007. On the second floor he even found evidence of a make-shift shelter where the scientists, or maybe a few survivors passing through, had holed up for a while. But any supplies of value were long gone.

Wally sighed. It had been a long shot anyway.

But when he did one last circuit of the first level he was surprised to discover a small hole in a sagging portion of the floor, near the rusty elevator doors_. _That in itself wasn't too surprising—buildings were always falling apart, these days—but what _did _surprise him was that there appeared to be another floor below.

Baffled, Wally doubled back to check the stairwell. The stairs only went up, not down. Intrigued, he went back to the hole, and after a little poking and prodding realized the damage was relatively recent. There was _something _down there, and more likely than not nobody had been given a chance to scavenge it yet.

It was a golden opportunity. Grinning to himself at his good luck, Wally wasted no time setting to work. He didn't know how long he'd be searching—if it had _one _hidden floor it could have others, potentially—and he didn't need company from a wandering pack of dead heads falling down the hole after him. He heaved and shoved several large desks and cabinets in front of the broken-down main door, just to be safe, and then set to work prying at the hole with his crowbar until it was wide enough for him to slip through. There was rope in his pack—he tied it off carefully against the still-fairly sturdy stairs, so he'd have a way back out. Then he tossed his pack through the hole and, gripping his flashlight and crowbar, jumped down after it.

_Jackpot. _

Wally grinned at his success. He was standing in a hallway that was pretty much identical to the second-floor one above—besides the curious fact that it wasn't connected to the ground floor at all, other than perhaps than by the elevator that he was sure was no longer operable. The place was coated with dust and clearly hadn't seen any visitors—human or zombie—in years. Perfect.

To his surprise, despite being below-ground, there was light as well—dim, weak emergency lights, but _lights _all the same. Wally made note of it with interest. Where there were lights, there was some sort of power source. Did this lab have its own generator? Some other internal power supply? Whatever it was, if he could find it, it might be worth a _lot, _or extremely helpful to a few of his friends and contacts around the country. Snapping off his flashlight, he slipped his backpack on, hefted his crowbar with both hands—it paid to be careful, no matter what the dust indicated—and set off to explore.

The first few floors were like any other office building he'd been in: clean and organized, other than the dust he kept kicking up, full of filing cabinets and office supply closets and rooms with cubicles. Wally took his time going through all the desks, cabinets, closets, bathrooms and office rooms, and was rewarded for his success with a few great finds: batteries, a few hand-held tools, and best of all, a pair of undisturbed first aid kits still bolted to the walls. There was an abandoned iPhone with a dead battery on sub-level seven, but although tech was mostly worthless there was a bounty out on portable, modern tech at the nearest refuge settlement, so he stowed that away too.

Somebody's desk on sub-level fifteen had an even luckier find of of several packs of cigarettes and a bottle of alcohol—this guy had vices like _woah_, clearly, but it'd serve Wally well. He didn't smoke or drink himself (stupid habit to get into, especially when traveling zombie-infested territories), but luxuries like these sold for a bundle in trade when they were so impossible to come by now. He'd be able to feed himself for a week or two just by trading for a single pack of cigs. He stowed everything away in his backpack, wrapping the alcohol bottle carefully in an extra shirt so it wouldn't break, and kept on exploring, now enthusiastic about his chances for finding more great stuff.

Past sub-level fifteen (he couldn't believe how far down this place went, but the stairwells kept dropping past fifteen into darkness, so he could only guess it went _really far_) things got a little more science-lab-y. Which only made sense, since the sign outside had said they did 'advanced laboratory research.' There were a few more finds here—some drugs that were still viable, and might do a settlement's medical facilities some good later, as well as a few other medical tools that might also be of use. He packed these up with _particular _care. They were as good as money to him, but they might mean somebody else's life one day in the future.

More exciting to Wally on these floors, though, was the scientific notes he found _everywhere. _He found himself reading whiteboards with chemical formulae curiously, or paging through binders and notebooks of hand-written and computer-printed notes, idly decoding the meanings and intents of the scientists that had been here before him. It had been a while since he'd seriously toyed with chemistry, biology, or physics, since zombies really were more impressed by your ability to run away from them than your ability to recite the entire periodic table from memory. But it was all still there in his head, and it didn't take him too long to pull apart the formulas for the hidden meanings beneath.

At first it was exciting—he'd always loved this stuff, even at twelve—but the more he read, the more it became _disturbing _instead. Some of the things this facility had been up to were...well, sick, honestly. Genetic manipulation, forced mutations, experiments regarding meta-powers...it all looked pretty twisted, and the more Wally read, the more he had questions. What had been going _on _here? Why was there some secret scientific facility below the capital? Had his uncle...the League...even known about this place? He guessed not, on that last one, or he was sure they would have shut the place down a long time ago. He knew his Uncle Barry would have disapproved of everything he was seeing.

Conspiracy theories flew through his head by the dozen, but Wally had already come this far, and he wasn't about to turn back. Ignoring the warning voice in his head that told him _maybe this place was not safe, _he kept going, crowbar at the ready.

At sub-level twenty-six, things started getting _really _disturbing, because that was when Wally started finding the bodies. The first one, he was not ashamed to admit to himself, scared the crap out of him. He saw something human-shaped sprawled on the floor in the dim emergency lights, screeched in alarm, and had the crowbar up and ready to start lashing out before five seconds were out. But the _thing _didn't move, and when he tentatively approached it, he realized it was dead. Definitely an _it, _too—the thing was only _vaguely _human shaped, and possessed gangly limbs, a whiplike tail, long, pointed ears, and a set of wicked-looking teeth. Wally grimaced, and tried hard not to think of it leaping at him and trying to tear his face off, because he was pretty sure that encounter would end pretty badly for _him. _

There were others too, the farther down he explored, and not just like the first thing. He counted four or five different types of strange creatures, always dead, from elephant-sized and built like a tank to tiny enough that one could have ridden on his shoulder. Perhaps the strangest was the entire floor dedicated to hundreds of glass tubes, filled with spiky bug things. A number of them still sparked with bright crackles of electricity, which suddenly explained why the whole facility still had emergency lights at least. The bodies increased the farther down he went, although Wally couldn't fathom why. He'd gotten halfway decent at assessing fights and massacres after seeing so many of them, but these things didn't look like the'd been in any major fights when they died, and he hadn't seen a trace of a zombie either. It was like they'd all just been...turned off, or something, had just keeled over and died.

_This is not weird or creepy at all_, he thought to himself grimly. Whoever the hell Cadmus belonged to, clearly they'd been up to no good before Z-day. Maybe he could bring some intel back to the nearest settlement, see what his friends thought of it...

The strangest of all were the last ten levels. By now Wally hadn't found anything of trading value for a while, but couldn't resist the urge to keep exploring, and when he saw the bottom of the facility he was shocked. These halls didn't even look like _halls _anymore—they were all coated in a thick reddish jelly-like substance, and put him in mind more of a strange, giant hive of bugs than a science facility. There wasn't much to find on these floors, other than a heart attack when he looked into the walls once and realized one of the weird elf-things was staring back at him. He'd screamed and backpedaled, bringing the crowbar up like a batter at plate, until he realized the thing in the wall was dead as well, sightless and empty and wrapped in a bubble-like pod of the jelly-stuff. A quick glance around revealed dozens of other dead, wrapped-up whatever-they-weres, also trapped in the walls.

That had been enough to _almost _make him turn around and head back up to the more normal levels. But he shook his head and kept going. "Don't be a wuss, Wally," he told himself out loud (a habit he'd picked up for himself after a few years on his own). "You're already here. Might as well go the whole way or you'll regret it."

Other than the weird jelly, most of the lowest hallways weren't much to speak of. Sub-level fifty-two, though—the lowest, final level, from what Wally could figure—was a special case. There was a lot of machinery strewn around, and a few odd-looking, highly-advanced computer consoles, most of which looked to be in severe disrepair if they weren't broken already. It branched off into two smaller hallways. One of them was full of canisters that, after a brief glance at the formulas written on the outside, Wally determined he wasn't going _near_—that stuff was explosive, and volatile, and who knew what would set it off after this long. So he headed down the other hallway, trying hard to ignore the dead creatures in the walls until he reached a strange round door at the end, slid partway open.

Something about that door seemed...odd. But he'd come this far, he reminded himself again, so he stepped through to the other side. It was dimmer in here—some of the emergency lights appeared to have gone out—and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. But when they did, his jaw nearly dropped, and he stared in surprise at what the room contained.

Or, more specifically, _who _the room contained.

* * *

I bet you guys totally cannot guess who is in that room. Hur hur.


	2. Chapter 2

**Age of Heroes**

Part two of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"This is it, the apocalypse!

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones  
Enough to make my systems blow  
Welcome to the new age, to the new age  
Welcome to the new age, to the new age!"  
~_Radioactive, _Imagine Dragons

* * *

For a moment Wally could do nothing but stare.

There was a glass pod in the center of the surprisingly large room. It was dirty and dusty, but even so there was clearly a _person _in it, and something inside glowed just slightly. Shocked, Wally dropped his pack and crowbar next to one of the computer consoles and darted forward to take a closer look.

It was definitely a person, the first human he'd seen in a while that wasn't a walking corpse. For one horrifying moment Wally thought this guy, too, was dead, just like the dozens of whatever-they-weres trapped in their own jelly-pods, left down here to rot. But a moment later he realized the dirty glass was misting just barely in front of the figure's face, which meant he was _breathing, _which meant he was _alive. _Wally let out a sigh of relief for that.

Reassured, he examined the person more carefully. The figure was outfitted in a bright white jumpsuit-thing that glowed just barely—and, he realized with shock, there was a familiar diamond-with-an-S logo sketched out across his chest. Further examination of the pod revealed a large _Kr _engraved on the outside. Kr—the atomic symbol for Krypton.

"Superman," Wally breathed. World-famous Superman had..._disappeared_...years ago, when the outbreak first started. Wally had been sure he was dead, based on all the news and rumors he'd been able to piece together for the past few years, but maybe...?

But no. The more he studied the sleeping figure, the more he realized this wasn't quite _right. _He had never actually _met _Superman (Uncle Barry had promised he'd introduce Wally to him, during his summer vacation, before all hell broke loose) but he had seen enough pictures and news bytes to know this wasn't the same. For one thing, this figure was too young—he looked barely sixteen. He also wasn't quite as thickly built, and his face didn't look _quite _right. Not Superman, then. Son, maybe? Captured by the scientists that were clearly _insane_ here?

"Doesn't matter," Wally decided after a moment. Whatever this guy's story was, the fact of the matter was that this was _wrong. _People had clearly not been here for years—how long had this poor guy been left down here, abandoned in a pod while the world died fifty-two levels above? It must have been terrible to be alone like this, for so long. Hell, not even _Wally _had been totally alone through the past four years—he'd still made friends, interacted with people at the settlements and colonies, and spoken to other travelers. _This _was complete isolation and restriction, and the thought alone set his stomach churning.

He wasn't going to leave this guy down here like this. It wasn't even a decision he had to consciously think about—nobody deserved this, and he wasn't going to abandon a fellow person (because in retrospect he probably wasn't actually human) down here in the dark in his own personal hell. Who knew if anybody would come back for him otherwise? Clearly nobody else even knew the facility was _here. _He could be overlooked for an eternity until he died in his sleep down here, like all those things in the jelly-pods, never known about.

Determined, Wally jogged over to the computer console, poked at the buttons to try and get some reaction. Unfortunately the facility seemed to be working on emergency power only, with only a few of the electric bug things left to generate power, which meant all the computers were offline. Well, there was more than one way to interface with high-end technology these days—snatching up his crowbar again, he strode over to the pod.

"I really hope you _are _part Superman," he told the unresponsive figure inside, "because otherwise this might hurt a bit. But I'll try to be careful!" And drawing back the crowbar, he smashed it into the glass.

It was actually stronger than he had anticipated. It took Wally four more whacks with all his strength before the glass cracked significantly, and at the sixth a few shards finally gave way. There was a soft hissing noise as the gas inside the pod began to escape, and Wally backpedaled in alarm. But it didn't appear to be dangerous, so after a moment he stepped forward again to continue his work—and blinked in surprise when he saw movement inside. It was hard to spot, the glass was so dingy, but he was _sure _he saw the figure's fingers twitch, the hand stretch and clench, and the chest heaved just slightly as a deep sigh escaped the body.

Then the eyes snapped open.

Wally blinked in surprise, and for a moment he met the other gaze to gaze. The figure's eyes were a brilliant blue, precisely the shade of Superman's. But they appeared clouded, disoriented, like somebody rising out of a hazy dream, when they hadn't quite grasped the difference between illusion and reality yet.

Wally had about a millisecond to register the other's confusion. Then the person's gaze seemed to grow more intense, and with an animalistic roar, his fist shot up, smashed through the glass, and slammed straight into Wally's chest.

Wally yelped as he was snapped backwards, crashing to the ground and missing the computer console by bare inches. The crowbar slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground out of reach—not that it would have been any use at all against a Kryptonian. He groaned as pain shot through his back, but before he could react further there was another primal howl and the figure burst through the glass. Shards scattered all around the floored teenager as the person leapt straight for Wally.

Wally yelped again, and twisted his head aside as a powerful fist smashed down where his skull had been. Concrete cracked, and Wally gulped as he stared at the deep hole that had been made; had that really been his head, it would have burst open on impact. _Great, _he managed to think, _I've survived the walking dead for four years now and the thing that's going to kill me is a Kid Superman. This is just not fair!_

The super-figure snarled again and pinned Wally to the floor with one knee; Wally choked as the air was forced from his lungs. The figure's fist drew back, and Wally knew he wasn't slippery enough to escape this one. So he coughed, gasped, threw up his hands to protect his face, and desperately sucked in enough air to yell, "Woahwoahwoah, it's okay, I'm just trying to help! _Help!_"

He hadn't actually expected this to work—the figure's vocabulary had been, well, non-existent so far—but to his surprise the super-person's fist ground to a halt about six inches from his face. Wally tried very hard not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.

The figure was staring at him again. His gaze was still incredibly intense, and the frown on his face was almost scary, but he didn't attack or start roaring again. Instead, his brows drew together into a deeper frown of confusion, and he rasped slowly, "Help?"

His voice sounded warped, dry, and almost painful—like he'd never used it before. Wally winced in sympathy, and inwardly thought to himself, _okay...so he _can_ talk. Okay. Okay, better than nothing. _

Outwardly, he was aware that it would be really good to _not _piss off the guy about a hairs breadth from turning his face into pudding, so he said as slowly and non-threateningly as he could, "Yes. Help. I just wanted to help you out, that's all. If you just let me up we can figure this out..."

He waited, heart hammering. The figure continued to stare at him, and then after a moment slowly recoiled back to his feet, hands at his sides. Wincing and rubbing his chest, Wally hauled himself slowly to his own feet with the assistance of the nearby computer console, trying to ignore the intense scrutiny of his new companion.

_Okay, Wally, _he coached himself. _The guy is clearly out of it, so just start niiiice and slow. _Sticking out his hand to shake, he said out loud, "So, hi. I'm Wally. Wally West."

The figure blinked, glanced down at his hand impassively, and then looked back to his face. After a few moments Wally let his hand drop. "Oookay then. Well. What's your name?"

"Superboy."

"Okay, but what's your _real _name?" Wally prompted further. "Secret identities kind of don't matter anymore."

"Superboy," the figure repeated. "I don't have any other name." His voice still sounded hoarse and unused.

"Riiiight," Wally said, trying really hard not to be exasperated. "Supey it is then. We can figure out something else for you later, I guess. Look, are you thirsty? Your voice doesn't sound all that great."

Superboy just blinked at him slowly. He still looked disoriented, and Wally took pity on him. Poor guy—it couldn't be easy to wake up from who-only-knew what cocktail of gasses had been in that pod, after who only knew how long. And who knew what else had happened to him while he was here, before all the people left or died or..._whatever _had gone down?

Shaking his head, he moved over to his pack and dug around in it until he found his water bottle, freshly restocked from one of the bathrooms upstairs. Superboy just watched him, apparently unconcerned that Wally might pull out some sort of weapon—but then, he _was _one of the Supers, so Wally supposed he really had nothing to be afraid of anyway.

"Here," he said, holding out the bottle to Superboy. "Drink up, might help." Superboy gave him a blank look, and Wally added, "Don't worry, it's not poisoned or anything. I'm a good guy. Besides, poisoning is _so _last generation."

He grinned. Superboy didn't react to the joke. Great—he'd rescued a brick wall disguised as a person.

But after a moment Superboy hesitantly reached out and took the bottle. His first gulp was tentative, but once the water hit his tongue his eyes widened and he drank faster and faster, like a man dying of thirst. Wally winced a little at how fast he went through it all—instinct and experience told him his water needed to be _conserved_—but Superboy seemed marginally less agitated when he was done drinking, so Wally supposed it was a good thing after all.

"Okay," he said, once Superboy looked a little less disoriented, and less likely to try and pound his face in. He sat back against one of the consoles to rest, and continued. "So, Supey...how long have you been here?"

"I don't know."

"Um. Okay. Do you know what happened to everybody else here? You're the first living person I've found all day."

"No." Superboy's brows knitted together slightly in a frown of confusion.

Zero for two. They were doing _great _so far. "Alright, well, do you know why you're here?"

At this, Superboy straightened, shoulders pulling back and expression growing confident and controlled for the first time. "I am the Superboy. A genomorph. A clone made from the DNA of the Superman. Created to replace him should he perish...to destroy him should he turn from the Light."

Wally frowned at the words—they sounded almost like a recitation, like something programmed into his companion's head. And what he'd said...a _clone? _Well, that explained the logo and the Kr engraving, as well as the minute differences between Superman and Superboy—this was a younger version of the much beloved hero. And that last part..._created to replace him should he perish..._Wally winced internally. Superboy was a little late to _that _party; Superman had perished years ago and it sounded like the clone didn't even know it.

He'd find a way to bring that up later, when Superboy was a little less...volatile. It was a little too grim a topic for right now, anyway.

Instead, he said brightly, "Oh, so...you've got Superman's powers and stuff, then?"

Superboy frowned at him, as though he were _particularly _dense. "Yes. I am a—"

"Clone made from Superman's DNA, yeah yeah, I got that part," Wally cut in hastily. "It's just, the powers will probably come in handy for all the stuff going on up top."

Superboy seemed confused by this. "Stuff up top?"

"You know. Z-day. The walking dead. All that _fun _stuff."

"I do not know what you are talking about."

Wally frowned again, worried now. Originally he'd just planned to free this guy, but...he really didn't know _anything _about the past four years? Just how long _had _he been stuck in that pod?

Superboy seemed to sense his confusion, and his own confused expression deepened again. "What is going on, on the surface? Has someone attacked? Has something dangerous happened?"

Wally grimaced. This really _wasn't _how he'd wanted it to go. "Um. You could say that. Actually you could say that's a major understatement. The world's sort of gone to hell, in fact. Animated dead...super dangerous. It all happened four years ago to the day. It's sort of an apocalypse up there."

It was hard to tell in the dark, but Superboy seemed to pale a little, and his eyes widened. He looked shellshocked. "That...has to be wrong," he said after a moment. "That should not...I would have been activated...why was I not...was my purpose changed?"

He looked so lost and forlorn, the deep frown replaced by something almost disappointed or helpless, that Wally couldn't help but feel a wave of sympathy for the poor guy. He'd had his own confused questions about what the point of it all was, back when Z-day had first happened; he could relate to the guy's lack of understanding. Superboy had to be incredibly confused and upset by now, waking up to a different world than the one he was expecting, unsure of the point of his existence now. Wally disliked seeing the clone down, even though he'd only known him for a few minutes and half of those minutes had consisted of being nearly killed by him.

"Cheer up," he said, and slapped a hand on Superboy's back, giving him an encouraging half-hug around the shoulders like Uncle Barry would sometimes do for him back in the day. Superboy looked a little uncomfortable with and perplexed by the contact, but Wally rolled right along. "Okay, so, maybe things are a little confusing right now, but we'll figure it out! I've got some friends at a colony up the coast, they might be able to help us get to the bottom of this, and you'll be safe there. And in the meantime you can stick with me—I can catch you up on everything that's changed, show you the ropes, teach you some of my tricks. We'll figure all this out together, and then you can decide what you wanna do, once we've gotten some answers."

Superboy seemed puzzled by this. "I can...decide?" he asked slowly, as though the concept of making his own decisions was foreign to him.

Inwardly Wally cringed at the poor guy's confusion. Was it really so hard to accept the fact that he could make his own choices? _Created to replace him should he perish, to destroy him should he turn from the Light. _Created as a weapon, more like. Wally's disgust with Cadmus was gradually growing to hatred, the longer he interacted with what was clearly their pet project.

But outwardly he kept his blinding, cheerful grin plastered on his face, and said, "Well, sure! I mean, it's your life, right? You get to pick how you want to live it."

Superboy seemed to consider this very carefully for a moment, before asking a new question. "Why do you want to help me?"

Wally was openly shocked by that one. "Well, I _said _I would, for starters," he said, "And I'm not going to just leave you down here, that's just _wrong_. But I mean, we're friends now, right, Supey? I pulled you out of a pod and you decided to not punch my brains into mush, which is more than I can say for most of the zeds out there, so, y'know, that pretty much solidifies it."

"Friends," Superboy repeated slowly.

"Yeah. Friends. People who look out for each other and help each other out," Wally said, his exasperation only lightly laced with sarcasm.

"I know the definition," Superboy said. There was a slight growl to his tone, which was a little scary, but it was also the first sign of personality that Wally had seen in him (because he was pretty sure 'primal rage,' 'robotic monotone,' and 'blue screen of death' didn't count). His voice softened after a moment, and he added, "I just...I'm not sure why..." A pause. "Do you really think I could find answers at this...colony you mentioned?"

"Sure," Wally said. He hoped, anyway. Of course, he'd have to bring some sort of offering to increase their odds, because he was pretty sure there would be no remote-hacking this facility that had clearly been off the grid before Z-day even happened. He started searching the computer console in front of the now-shattered pod, adding, "If anybody can find it out, it's my buddy up at the Gotham refuge. He's got experience with this stuff. And you'll get out of _this _place too, to somewhere safe. You can meet more people, see how the world is...let it help you figure out what you want to do."

_Aha, _bingo—Wally grinned when he found a discarded, dusty flash-drive wedged in between two of the consoles. Hopefully this would have all the information they needed, because there was no way he could bring the whole console back with him. He pocketed the drive on his person—too valuable to put anywhere else—and turned to his companion, still grinning. "So? Whadya say?"

Superboy stared at him for a moment, but then nodded, and offered an almost tentative smile, like he wasn't actually sure how to form one yet because he'd never done it before. Based on everything he'd learned, Wally would not even be surprised to learn this was really the case. "Alright. I will travel with you...what do we need to do?"

"For starters, _you _need new clothes," Wally said, eyeing Superboy critically. "That whatever-it-is—"

"Solar suit," Superboy interrupted immediately. "For absorbing yellow sun rays consistently."

"Whatever," Wally said. "It stands out. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Most of the time it's just the zombies we need to look out for, but you do occasionally get these roving bands of, well, bandits, that like to just take advantage of the chaos, and you really don't want to catch their attention either—"

Superboy frowned. "Why don't you just fight them?" he asked, with a hint of distain and impatience.

"Because _I'm _not invulnerable and bullets will make me super _dead,_" Wally answered instantly. "Look, just trust me on this—new clothes. You absolutely need them. I think there was a locker room on one of the upper levels, we can check that out. C'mon." He snatched up his bag, retrieved his crowbar from where it lay forgotten on the floor after Superboy first attacked him, and turned back to the odd round door, turning sideways to slip through it.

He made it half a dozen paces before he realized Superboy wasn't following. Puzzled, he turned back to find Superboy standing a few feet inside his pod-room, staring at the door. "It won't bite you," Wally said, smirking a little. When Superboy didn't move, he added more seriously, "Okay look, I know the faces-in-the-walls thing is like, straight out of a horror movie, but I'm pretty sure it's safe, and we're sort of living in a horror movie now anyway, so _c'mon._"

But Superboy shook his head after a moment, and said slowly, "I have...never been outside this room before."

Oh. _Ouch. _Wally felt his heart pang in sympathy. This guy might be a clone of one of the most powerful people alive, but man, whoever had grown him in that pod had stunted his growth in other ways. Superboy _looked _about Wally's age, maybe a little older, and he was clearly intelligent and capable, but in some ways he was already reminding Wally of a child. If he ever met who was in charge of this operation he was _definitely _going to punch the jerk in the face for messing with his new buddy. Or maybe he was a zombie...Wally almost hoped he _was. _Then he'd be fully justified with taking the guy's head off with his crowbar. Messy, but _totally _worth it.

All he said out loud was, "Oh. Well, it's...not really all that different, actually. Same weird walls. Gets less creepy higher up." And then a little softer, "You don't _have _to stay in there anymore, remember. You're allowed to come out, see the world. If _you _want to."

That seemed to harden Superboy's resolve. He strode forward, eyes narrowed, and ripped the massive several-hundred-pound round door from its hinges, turning and hurling it at the pod he'd slept in until so recently. The glass shattered further and the metal twisted and bent backwards, irreparable. "I _want _to leave," Superboy growled. "I don't want to stay here anymore. I want _answers._"

"I noticed," Wally said, eyebrows raised high. Crud, he'd tossed that door like it was made of matchsticks! Clearly this was going to take a little getting used to.

Superboy made a rather silent travel companion as they worked their way back up many, _many _sub-levels. Which was good, because after close to forty stories Wally was feeling a little out of breath, fit and healthy or no, and wouldn't have made for much conversation anyway. After a little backtracking Wally managed to find the locker-room he'd spotted earlier, and after a little digging he scrounged up a few things that might fit the clone. Superboy obediently changed into the slightly-too-baggy jeans, worn but serviceable belt, and army surplus boots that might've belonged to a security guard without complaint, but glowered at the dark gray _Washington Redskins _t-shirt with clear distaste.

"There's nothing else?" he asked. Wally raised an eyebrow, and was about to point out he was getting awful picky for a guy unable to make a decision an hour ago, until he saw the clone plucking unhappily at the S-shield on the solar-suit now in his hands. _Oh. _So this was an identity thing, not a personal taste thing.

"It's the only thing that fits you here," Wally said. "Sorry. Um...we can try checking other shops later, on the way. Or if we still haven't found anything we might be able to trade for it at the refuge. Or get somebody to make one for us."

Superboy looked disappointed, but grudgingly pulled the football shirt on over his head. It, too, was slightly too baggy, but Wally hadn't found anything else in here large enough for somebody of Superboy's size. He'd just have to deal with it for now. Wally did, however, manage to scrounge up a second bag—it looked like an old school backpack—and offered it to Superboy to put the solar suit in, just in case. Superboy seemed surprised by the offer at first, but nodded a quiet thanks to Wally a second later, and stowed his only possession away.

"Okay," Wally said, "Now that that's all taken care of, I think we'll probably have to stay down here tonight. It's definitely dark up top by now and we don't want to be traveling at night, not with the walking dead out there waiting for us, but it seems safe enough down here."

"Why don't we fight them?" Superboy repeated, crossing his arms. Definitely more personality there than before. Getting him away from that pod had already done him wonders.

"Rule number one of surviving a zombie apocalypse," Wally told him, raising one finger. "Don't _ever _fight zombies when you don't have to. You get the chance, you get away from them as _fast _as you can. They're dangerous, and it gets worse at night." Superboy still didn't look convinced—to be honest, Wally was starting to realize Superboy didn't entirely believe him about the surface at all—so he added, "Look, just _trust _me on this, okay. I promise I'm not gonna steer you wrong. Don't fight zombies, not unless you're _desperate. _

"Now I think I saw a couple of couches up in what looked like some sort of executive office—we can crash there for the night. Best sleep _I'll _get in a while, I think." He grinned. "I've got some vacuum-packed packages of nuts that I found a couple weeks ago, I think they're still good—and some smoked meat and dried fruit I traded for last week. And we've got all the water we could need here. Regular feast, right? You should count yourself lucky you got found by somebody as resourceful as me!"

Superboy's look was one of pure skepticism, but after a moment he smirked—this time the expression was a little more natural, like he was getting more used to it. "Alright. Are you going to share that feast?"

"Maybe," Wally said with a grin. "If you ask nicely. And I get first dibs on the more comfortable couch." He headed out of the locker room for the stairwell again with Superboy in tow, adding more seriously, "We'll try to get up early tomorrow so we can stock you up on some of your own supplies before we head out. I think I remember where the good stuff was in here. Your own water bottle, a first aid kit—well if you're invulnerable you might not need it but you never know, you could always trade it—same with meds, some more food if we can find it, tools..."

He ticked off the supplies on his hands idly as he walked, with Superboy following and listening quietly behind him. And despite how surreal the situation was, wandering around far below the earth in a hidden science lab with a superhero clone following him around like a quiet little alien puppy—despite all that, for the first time in a _very _long time, Wally felt almost..._content. _Because it felt good, not to be alone again. To have a traveling companion that wasn't there purely out of convenience or necessity, to have somebody willing to listen to him, have somebody that _trusted _him to look out for him. It was like...like having a little brother. Like having a _family _again.

It was a good feeling, and Wally resolved to do everything he could to help this guy, no matter what. Because that was what family did for each other, after all.

* * *

I always thought it was kind of interesting that Superboy had a markedly different speech pattern...right up until he rebelled against Cadmus.

Couple of lines in this were pulled from the show itself, in the interest of disclaimers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Age of Heroes**

Part three of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warnings**: Zombie-related gore and violence that does get a little bit graphic. (This is where that M rating comes in I guess)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"All my heroes have now become ghosts,  
Sold their sorrow to the ones who paid the most.  
All my heroes are dead and gone,  
But down inside of me, they still live on!"  
~_Heroes, _Shinedown

* * *

Despite the oddity of the situation, Wally slept like a baby that night.

It was rare for him to get a good night's rest in relative comfort unless he was staying at one of the settlements in between search leads. When he was on the road he usually spent his time sleeping in trees or on upper stories and roofs, and he always had to sleep light, because at the slightest sound of a moan he had to be ready to run. But the Cadmus sub-levels were secure, the couch smelled a bit funny but was still soft and comfortable, and he'd had a good day of successful finds, so it was no surprise to him at all that he slept as well as he did.

He woke at dawn, and he didn't even have to see the sky or find a working timepiece to know it. Before Z-day he'd been a lazy kid, always sleeping in when he could—back then, mornings had been _evil, _and it took everything he had to force himself out of bed to go to school. The outbreak had changed that, when Wally quickly learned that it was vital to take advantage of every second of daylight one had. Nowadays he was usually up with the sun and already long gone from his chosen campsite before the first hour of the day was out.

Of course, today was a little different. It started when Wally had a momentary heart attack, when he spotted the second _empty _couch. For a moment he almost thought finding Superboy had been all in his head—maybe he'd been alone for so long he was losing his mind, conjuring companions for himself to keep the stress of surviving the apocalypse at bay. It wouldn't be the weirdest brand of new crazy that had developed since Z-day.

But a quick sweep of the room revealed Superboy standing upright in the farthest corner of the room, sandwiched between one wall and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, eyes closed. Wally felt a flood of relief, and then a moment later puzzlement. "Um...Supey?"

Superboy shifted, and his eyes opened slowly. He blinked once, and then glanced over at Wally, who was staring at him over the back of his couch. "Yes?"

"Oh. So you are awake. Uh, any reason you're imitating the bookcase, there? The couch might've been a little softer than the...um...wall."

Superboy hesitated for a second, and then said slowly, "It...reminded me of my pod. The couch felt...odd."

"Oh." Awkward, much? Wally wasn't exactly sure how one was supposed to respond to that, which meant his mouth defaulted to sarcasm automatically. "Yeah, just so you know, there's sort of a lack of pods, bookcases, and intact walls topside, so you might have to get used to sleeping horizontal like the rest of us normal people."

Superboy gave him a surprisingly dirty look. Wally was impressed; he hadn't even realized Superboy could do that yet, considering his lack of personality so far. The clone slipped free from his enclosed space and said a little coldly, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Yeah, okay, you do that," Wally said, but grinned to show he was just teasing. He yawned, stretched, and rolled off the couch, pawing through his bag until he found more of the smoked meats and dried fruit from last night. He tossed some of it to Superboy and kept some of it for himself, and frowned inwardly at just how little was left. It was going to be a lot harder to feed two people, especially with them going through his rations twice as fast as before. Plus, Superboy was kind of big—he'd probably need more than Wally. And how much food did Kryptonians need, anyway? He'd have to figure something out for that.

"So," Wally outlined, "I figure we'll take an hour to get your stuff together, and then try to break out of D.C. Might go a little slower than it usually does for me though...normally I ride a bike, but I don't think it'll carry you too. Maybe we can find you another one." He mused over that one thoughtfully as he tore off a strip of tough meat with his teeth.

Superboy nodded after a moment. "Sure. You're the expert." He tore into his own meager meal, apparently unconcerned with the fact that breakfast was the same as dinner.

It wasn't too hard to find supplies for Superboy; Wally was able to backtrack easily by following his own footsteps in the dust from yesterday. The hardest part was figuring out what a Kryptonian might need. Wally only vaguely remembered the things Superman could do, but he did remember that he was built _much _hardier than the average human, and Superboy shared a lot of those qualities for obvious reasons. The glass from the pod hadn't cut him yesterday, which meant he was invulnerable, so he didn't really need a first aid kit or a blanket or warmer clothing. Based on the way he tore off that door yesterday he could rip through almost anything, which meant he wouldn't really need any tools either. Could Superman see in the dark, and didn't he shoot lasers from his eyes? Would Superboy even need flashlights or matches or weaponry?

In the end Wally just loaded up Superboy's backpack with anything else of value he could find. He made sure to scrounge up a water-bottle for the clone, and he'd share his own food with his new friend, but everything else was mostly potential trade-goods for later. Superboy was strong enough to carry some of the heavier things Wally had been forced to leave behind on his first trip through the lab—small but heavy cans of fuel, a gallon-jug of water just in case, a box of ammunition he'd found for some gun or other in one of the guard stations—which was good, at least. If they could find people they had a veritable fortune in their backpacks, now, which would let them buy food or other supplies if they needed it.

Then there was no putting it off: it was time to head back to the surface. Cadmus had _almost _been a comfort, if it wasn't for the obviously disturbing nature of the experiments and the many dead things below. It was nice to not have to worry for a day, and to find such a big haul. Wally wasn't really sure what he'd find topside—there was always a chance the zeds had caught his scent or something while he was down here—so leaving would be risky and tricky. But he also wanted _out. _Now that he had Superboy in tow it was imperative he get him to safety as fast as he could, and beyond _that, _he wouldn't be finding his family at all if he spend all his time messing around down here.

So he led Superboy up the stairwells to sub-level one, giving his new companion a few quick warnings as he did so. "Okay. So. The surface is probably not going to be what you're expecting, but there's a few things you need to know right now before we even get up there. For starters, we need to be as quiet as possible. Far as anybody can tell zombies hunt primarily through sound—if we tip them off and they start moaning it'll just attract more. Nobody wants more zombies, got it? So we stay quiet and we move fast. If we do see any, run like hell in the other direction, and keep your distance from them. They're pretty slow, it's not _too_ hard unless you get bottle-necked somewhere."

Superboy frowned. "I don't like the thought of running away from a fight."

"It's not a fight," Wally told him, with one part practicality and one part exasperation. "It's a _massacre. _If it makes you feel better, don't think of it as running away—think of it as attacking in the opposite direction."

It didn't look like the thought made Superboy feel any better.

Wally grit his teeth and resolved to keep an eye on his new traveling companion. A very _careful _eye. He'd clearly been designed as a weapon and his heritage was obviously buried deeply in the age of heroes, but this wasn't that time any more. Heroics were suicide, end of story. Wally wasn't going to let Superboy get killed only a day or two after he'd effectively been born.

They reached sub-level one, and Wally approached the hole he'd expanded on yesterday with crowbar raised, wary. Superboy watched him curiously, but said nothing. But the hole looked untouched, there were no moving bodies, and Wally didn't hear any shuffling from above, so he figured it'd be fine.

He grabbed the rope still hanging down through the ceiling and started to haul himself up; was only mildly surprised when Superboy hesitated, and then reached up to give him a boost and ease his climb. The clone tossed the backpacks and crowbar up after him, and then eyed the hole critically. "I don't think I'm going to fit through that."

"Uh...yeah, I guess I'm a lot skinnier than you are," Wally called down to him softly. _Because not all of us can come out of pods absolutely ripped. Some of us have to _work _for our muscles. _"I can try to widen the hole with my crowbar like I did yesterday—"

"Don't bother." Superboy eyed the hole and crouched. Wally realized what he was about to do just in time, and backpedaled away from the hole as the clone smashed _through _the floor with a resounding _crunch, _scattering dust and stone shards everywhere. He landed six feet away next to one of the giant pillars in the first level's interior, and smirked, brushing pebbles off his shoulders. "Knew I could do it."

"Did you not _hear _what I said about being quiet?" Wally hissed at him. "Okay, we're moving, _now. _If there are any zeds in the area they will be zeroing in on that small earthquake you just made, and we don't want to be here when they find it." He threw his pack on, clenched his crowbar tightly in both hands, and gestured for Superboy to follow. The clone retrieved his own pack easily and did so, not looking particularly concerned, and moved Wally's door-blocks aside with the ease of a kid playing with legos.

His expression changed with remarkable suddenness, though, once Wally levered the door open again and tentatively stepped outside. It only took a few seconds for Wally to scan the area (thankfully clear of the walking dead) and reassure himself that his bike was still intact, but in that short span of time Superboy's face had shifted from bland indifference to the same shellshocked look he'd had when he first came out of his pod last night. The clone took in the sights—the dirty, broken roads, abandoned cars and trucks, crumbling buildings, gray atmosphere, and absolute _silence_—and rasped softly, "This is...wrong. All of it is _wrong!_"

Wally winced at the way Superboy's voice rose into something louder at the end. "I agree with you, Supey, but—"

"No," Superboy interrupted him. "No, you don't understand. This is..._this _is Washington, D.C.?"

"Sure is," Wally told him. "Welcome to the capital. Keep your voice down, the locals are violent."

"But this isn't _right,_" Superboy insisted. "None of this looks right!"

"How do you even know?" Wally asked incredulously. "You said you'd never even been out of that _room, _let alone up here..."

"I don't know," Superboy said slowly. "There are...images, memories...facts...all in my head. I don't know why. I just _know_ these things. I can see what everything is _supposed _to look like. Not _this. _This is _wrong._" He sounded like he was in denial, and Wally was absolutely certain now that Superboy had refused to believe what little information he'd shared with the clone until he saw it with his own eyes.

Superboy looked around again, looking rather lost, and then said in a small voice, "This is...this is not the world I was made for..."

Wally cringed. He didn't know how right he was. And Wally didn't like that unsure sound in his friend's voice, or that dejected slump in those shoulders that were supposed to be able to handle incredible weights. Despite his urge to leave he couldn't help but pause long enough to sling an arm around Superboy's shoulders comfortingly again, and said, "Look, I know it's kind of shocking, but don't worry about it, okay? So what if you weren't _made _for it. We'll find you a new place in it. It's not _all _bad, and I'm gonna prove it to you. Just stick with me and everything'll be okay, alright, Supey? We just gotta hang in there. Cardinal rule of zombie apocalypse survival."

Superboy was clearly shaken, but after a moment he nodded. "I...right. Right. Sorry. It's just..."

"Surprising. Disorienting. I know, dude. I get it too sometimes, still, and I've been watching everything fall apart slowly for four years. I can't imagine what it must be like, to see D.C. all normal and thriving and then to see it like _this _in under a day. And D.C. isn't even the worst of it, other places got hit way harder. You can't even get into Central anymore—too full of zeds." And he'd tried. Lord knew he'd tried, trying to find his family again.

"But like I said, it's not all bad. Humans are stubborn and we don't like to just roll over and die as easy as that. There's some places where we're still holding out and things are good." He grinned for a moment, but then it turned more serious as he added, "But we've gotta survive long enough to get there, and that means we've got to be careful and go _now, _okay? We can talk more later. Right now, _quiet._" He gave Superboy's shoulder a quick squeeze and then gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

Superboy didn't exactly look _happy, _but he didn't look completely shell-shocked anymore, so that was a start at least. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Where are we—" Then he paused, cocked his head like a listening dog, and asked, "What's that noise?"

"Noise? What noise?" Wally strained his ears, but didn't hear anything. "This isn't a super-hearing thing, is it?"

"It's...I'm not sure. None of the things I know can identify it. Sort of...groaning?"

Wally paled. "What direction?" he asked immediately, gripping Superboy's arm tightly.

Superboy blinked in surprise at the abrupt change in Wally's demeanor, but pointed up the street to their left. "That way."

"Damn," Wally cursed. They were coming from the bridge. "We need to move," he said urgently. "Now." He grabbed for his bike, balancing the crowbar across it. If he had to he'd abandon the bike in favor of running, but it was too valuable a tool to ditch otherwise. "Let's go."

He took six steps before realizing Superboy wasn't behind him again. Glancing behind, he realized the clone was staring down the street in the direction of the noise, eyes narrowed. Frustrated, Wally propped the bike up against the nearest building again, hooked the crowbar on his belt, and darted back to his friend, latching both arms around one of Superboy's and trying to haul him away. He was about as effective as trying to move a mountain single-handedly; Superboy was as rigid as a marble statue and all but impervious to Wally's puny human strength.

"I'm not kidding around here, Supey," he hissed as he kept tugging, the first edges of real concern slipping into his voice. "We have to move, _now—_if they see us..." Wally could hear the moaning now too, which meant they were _close. _Too close for comfort.

And then the first of them came around the corner two street intersections away, and Wally felt dread drop into his stomach like a heavy lead weight, felt the first fingers of an icy cold hand gripping his heart.

Back in the day, Wally had actually been a bonafide geek, and like every other geek alive he'd loved zombies. He'd always thought zombie horror flicks and video games were awesome, and marveled at the creative details they would always get into the zombie designs, with the rotting flesh and missing eyeballs and bony protrusions and occasional weird extra mutant abilities.

Real zombies were not like that, which in some cases was a blessing (if zombies were actually that fast, or had super powers, Wally would have given up a long time ago because living would have been impossible). But in some cases it was a lot worse. Unless the animated corpses were _particularly _old, or distended or burst from consuming too much flesh, or had been damaged somehow in a fight or an accident, they rarely showed such obvious and grotesque signs of decay.

Actually, other than a bloodless pallor, empty expressions, and the disjointed, shuffling movements of bodies that lacked the coordination to move fluidly, zombies typically looked like normal people, which in Wally's opinion was what made them far more frightening. When you were regularly attacked by people that looked like your soccer coach or your best friend the cute girl at the cafe that used to give you refills for free, it started getting harder and harder to stave off growing paranoia of even _real _human beings. Wally had even heard stories of other survivors who finally just _snapped, _assuming everyone around them was a zed in disguise, only to break down or—in nastier situations—go postal, killing other innocent survivors in the process. In other cases Wally had heard rarer stories of perfectly normal humans becoming so entrenched in their paranoia and confusion that they started considering _themselves _zeds, attacking people and wandering out to join the hordes of walking dead, only to be eaten alive by their 'fellows.' It was just too frighteningly easy to connect with these monsters, which was one of the reasons they were so dangerous, on a psychological level more than anything else.

These zombies shuffling around the corner were the same as any others Wally had seen. There were at least ten of them, and any one of them could have sat on the plane next to him four years ago when he flew into D.C., or served them at the restaurants, or taken them on tours through the museums. He could even take a few guesses at the things they'd done before they were turned. The one with the blood-stained black suit might've been secret service, the woman with the badge still miraculously pinned to her shirt had to be a reporter, and the kid with the torn Batman T-shirt—school kid, definitely. That last one made him cringe, because the kid was eternally frozen at maybe twelve years—that could have _been_ Wally if things had gone down differently.

"Supey, _come on!_" he rasped, more desperate now, and gave another useless tug at the clone's arm. "Before they—"

But it was too late. The zombies had caught on that they were there, somehow—Wally was still not sure if it was sight, sound, smell, movement, or maybe a combination of all four that let them hunt—and the guttural moans increased in volume and regularity as they started to shuffle forward faster.

Crap.

Wally wasn't ashamed to admit he was getting closer to resorting to begging, as he circled around Superboy and tried to forcibly push him back with both hands. Superboy still didn't budge, and his gaze was violently intense as he watched the walking dead shambling closer to them. "We have to _go, _Supey! Remember what I told you down below!"

Superboy didn't even appear to hear him, and he was obviously not going anywhere. And Wally _was _ashamed to admit that a very tiny part of him—the primal part that had whipped him into shape and kept him alive for the past four years—had already written Superboy off as a loss, and was insisting now that he _run away as fast as he damn well could _and preserve himself, at least.

But no. _No. _He was not going to abandon Superboy now. It had only been a day, but he was still seeing Superboy as _family, _and he'd never forgive himself if he abandoned his (relatively helpless) little brother to the undead. So he kept trying, while his mind screamed all the while that _they were getting closer _and he had to _get away now _or he would _never _find his _real_ family again.

Superboy did not even remotely appear to be on the same page. Wally could feel a faint vibration under his fingers as he tried to push the clone away, and realized a moment later that Superboy was _growling, _the sound so low in pitch he could barely hear it and more _felt _it instead. Then Superboy said his first words since the zombies had appeared: "_That _is the enemy?"

Wally felt his heart plummet even further. He did not like where this was going. "Doesn't matter, we have to go now—"

"_These _are the ones you were so scared of?" Superboy looked almost scornful. "Tch. They're _nothing!_" And to Wally's horror, Superboy brushed him aside like _he_ was nothing too, roared a battle cry, and hurled himself directly into the middle of the moaning pack of zombies.

Wally felt his heart stop for one eternally long second.

Then time sped up so alarmingly fast that if he'd been moving, he was pretty sure he'd have gotten whiplash. Wally watched in horror as Superboy smashed into the pavement, sending three unsteady zombies staggering backwards and toppling over on the ground. With another roar, the clone snatched up the secret service zombie—it moaned and snapped at him, but missed skin by inches—spun, and hurled him at four other approaching zeds. All five crashed to the ground as well, and Superboy yelled wordlessly, an almost feral challenge, as he glared around at the writhing zombies, daring them to get up again.

But he didn't _understand. _Zombies were not like normal human opponents. They didn't feel fear or pain or pride, you couldn't demoralize them, you couldn't incapacitate them. You couldn't use normal codes of conduct for a fair fight, because a fight against a zombie was _never _fair. They couldn't be saved—there was no cure, no chance to reverse the turning, no way to make them see sense. They could only be run from, or killed, two things heroes of old would _never _resort to. The Justice League had stood their ground and tried hard to solve everything, and look where it had gotten them!

Already the zombies were clawing their way forward again, and a few of the cleverer ones had figured out how to clamber slowly to their feet. The moaning increased, and Wally felt ice slither through his veins when he heard the call taken up from other directions all around them now. God, the were surrounded, all the noise had attracted attention—they were in so much trouble—

Superboy still didn't seem to understand the danger, and barked a challenge at the closest dead head, apparently insulted by its inability to recognize him as a dangerous and superior opponent. He didn't even turn around to watch his back, where the eternally-twelve zombie with the Batman shirt—the only one Superboy had ignored, maybe out of some ingrained moral code to not beat on kids—was shuffling forward, arms raised, jaw snapping.

"No no _no!_" Wally screamed. Panic flooded him, and he threw himself up the street. He didn't even register crossing the distance, it happened too fast—probably something to attribute to adrenaline, rather than suddenly manifesting dormant speed powers—and made it just in time, right as the kid started leaning forward for a bite. With strength born of severe desperation, wild fury, and a great deal of terror for his unexpected family member, Wally wrenched the thing back by one arm and pushed it away. Then he lashed out with the crowbar, smashing it into the kid's head with as much force as he could muster. The first smash dented its head in, and its jaw hung awkwardly, tongue flopping out. The backhanded second smash was enough to split its head open completely, and it dropped to the pavement with a muted gurgle, dripping rancid brownish fluids. It didn't move again.

"What is _wrong _with you?" Superboy snarled at him, eyes wide and glare full of hatred.

Wally didn't even have time to explain that he was _not _crazy, thank you very much, and it might look like he had just mercilessly beaten a twelve-year-old to death with a crowbar but actually he had just saved the clone's life. He was in full fight-or-flight mode now, hyperaware of every tiny detail relevant to his own survival, and didn't have time for debates or psychological profiles anyway. All he said was, "They're not alive! _Undead! _Don't get bitten or you're done for, aim for the head, and _run!_"

"I'm not running!" Superboy snarled back, and carelessly picked up another zombie to hurl at the approaching pack again. Wally was horrified to realize he wasn't even _trying _to avoid the snapping jaws, and only sheer _dumb luck _had saved him so far. "_This _is my new place—I can _fight. _These things can't hurt me, they're weak—"

"_No!_" Wally nearly shrieked at him. He whipped around and smashed in another zombie's head frantically. This one was the reporter; her news badge showed a pretty face, he found himself noting strangely, as he turned the real thing into brown mush. She went down too and didn't get up again. "No, you can't, that's _wrong! _Superman thought that too and they still killed him, so _run, _run as fast as you can _now!_"

Wally had thought this would get through to Superboy, if anything did; he clearly held his predecessor in high regard. Instead it had a more terrifying effect: Superboy froze completely, rigid as a statue once more, and his eyes went wide and staring, as if he were seeing something truly terrifying very, very far away.

"What are you—_no!_" Wally dodged around his companion and lashed out with the crowbar again. The strokes both missed hitting any heads, but he was able to knock the unstable zombies back for a moment, at least, as he frantically tried to keep them away from his friend. With maybe a second's worth of breathing space Wally glanced over his shoulder and groaned. He'd somehow managed to put the kid he was trying to look out for into _shock. _He'd known it was going to be tough to explain Superman's end to Superboy, but this was too much at just the wrong time.

"_Snap out of it!_" he yelled frantically, as he beat back another reaching zed hand. "Supey, wake up, _now, _wake up and _run!_ You'll die if you don't!" He couldn't hold back the hordes forever, and more were coming; if they didn't move soon...

There was a rattling gasp behind him, reminding Wally of the noise a drowning man might make when he reaches air again. Superboy sidestepped around him a moment later, snatched up another zombie—but this time, Wally noted gratefully, with more care, seizing it behind the neck so it couldn't bite—and hurled it at the others. They fell back again, moaning in agitation, giving the living a little space. Then, before Wally could argue, Superboy wrapped an arm around Wally's back and launched himself into the air.

It was a new and not entirely pleasant experience for Wally. Superboy shot up and forward fast, ridiculously fast, and Wally was hyper aware of his stomach being left behind him with the crowd of zombies. He yelped and hastily dug his fingers into Superboy's shirt, just to make sure he didn't get himself dropped, and focused on keeping a tight hold on his now very gory crowbar with the other hand.

But after a moment all his senses managed to catch up with him, and he looked down in bewilderment. They were _flying. _Holy crap they were _flying! _He could see the roofs of some of DC's two- and three-story buildings below them, and the zombies looked more cat or dog-sized now than the much larger and more lethal people-size. They were flying and they were alive and _not dead _and it was _awesome. _

Or maybe _not, _Wally realized, a moment later. His weightlessness seemed to _shift, _and there was an uncomfortable moment of anticipation, not unlike the exact same feeling he used to get every time he started going down the first hill of a roller coaster. And then suddenly they were going _down, _not up, and D.C. and the zombies were rushing back up at them with alarming speed.

Superboy's eyes were wide. "I...I'm falling?" he said. Wally noted that he sounded more disappointed or shocked than anything. He might have felt bad for the guy if he wasn't currently occupied by his own _outright terror _due to the ground rocketing up at them way too fast.

"Landing!" Wally yelped at him. "Focus on landing, _landing!_"

Superboy blinked, but his expression shifted to determination. He threw out his free hand for balance and managed to come smashing down on a _particularly _unlucky solo zombie, crushing its head into paste beneath his stolen combat boots. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Wally would have laughed at Superboy's first zombie-kill being Goomba-stomping a zed into non-existence; it had been unconventional but very, _very _effective.

Wally gingerly tried to catch his balance without getting his shoes too covered in gore, still leaning against Superboy a bit dazedly to recover from the crazy jump. Superboy had already recovered, sturdy as ever, and looked more hurt by his first major discovery about himself than anything else. "Superman can fly. Why can't I fly?" His voice, everything about him, sounded broken.

Geez, this kid was just _not _having a good day. Or life so far, really. Not that Wally's was going great either, at the moment, but at least his ratio of good days to bad was a little more even than Superboy's mere two days of constant shock and bad news. "Dunno," he said, forcing at least a little bit of cheer into his voice for the sake of his friend, "But it looks like you _can _still leap tall buildings in a single bound. Still cool." He glanced over his shoulder at the zombie hordes, which were growing larger now and had figured out where their prey was again _easy _from the crashing noise made on impact. "Think you can keep it up?"

Superboy hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes. Which way?"

Wally pointed. "The bridge. We need to get across and go north. If we can—hey!" His instructions turned into an indignant yelp as Superboy crouched and this time scooped him up like a child. "Do I _look _like I'm five?"

"Hard to keep a grip the other way when landing, with the backpack," Superboy growled back at him, in a surprisingly no-nonsense tone. "You want to keep your stuff, we go this way." And without waiting further he launched himself into the air once more.

Wally complained foully under his breath. It didn't help much—based on Superboy's smirk, he could hear everything Wally said. _Awesome. _

But Wally had to admit, Superboy was able to cushion him from the impact a little easier traveling this way—and more importantly, it was _fast. _In six hops they'd left D.C. behind and had crossed the bridge, and they'd miraculously escaped a veritable _swarm _of zombies that would have been a death sentence for anybody else. In half an hour they'd covered a few miles, and had made it far enough into relatively safe no-man's-land that Wally could give Superboy the cue to halt. Superboy dutifully set them down in a decaying field that had probably once grown crops but had long since gone dead and stony. It gave them enough of a vantage point of the surrounding area that they'd know for sure the moment something tried to attack them.

"Okay," Wally said, as he tried to shake a little feeling back into his now-asleep legs, "Not gonna lie, that is going to be really useful in a pinch." Better than a bike, at any rate—Superboy could cover way more ground when he was so inclined. Of course, they couldn't use it all the time. Superboy couldn't exactly be subtle with his landings, which meant they were loud and would undoubtedly attract any zeds in the area. Not to mention Wally didn't want to put too much strain on his friend if he could help it—Superboy was panting slightly from the half-hour non-stop jump-run, and Wally didn't want to wear him out or make him sick or anything. He'd never heard any stories about Superman getting injured or worn down, but _clearly _Superboy was not the same as Superman, and Wally didn't know what other limits the clone might have.

Superboy gave him a weak smile, but then his expression turned stony. "Alright," he said, tone hard, but not quite hard enough to conceal the tight sound of pain hidden in there, "Explain...what happened to Superman. And the others. What's going on?"

Wally winced. He'd known this was coming, but even with half an hour to think about it, he still wasn't really sure how to answer the question. He sighed and settled for wiping his messy crowbar on a few old, dead leaves, trying to organize his thoughts. Superboy watched, eyes narrowed, but waited without interrupting.

Finally Wally sat down on a particularly large rock and said, "Look, Supey. I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this. And like this, too. I didn't want to, but..." He grimaced. "Okay. When Z-day happened, well, the Justice League—you know about the League?"

"Yes," Superboy answered promptly. "An organization of super heroes, currently consisting of ten members, with the goal of global defense through unified team work. Members consist of—" He paused in his recitation, and said more slowly, "The roster doesn't matter anymore. Does it."

It was a statement, not a question. Wally swallowed, and said, "No. It doesn't. When...when the outbreaks first started, the League was at the center of everything. They were trying hard to figure out how to reverse it, figure out what caused it...they did everything they could to stop it. And...it got them killed. The ones we don't have witnesses for haven't been seen again and are still presumed dead. This isn't something you can fight. It's not something you can reverse or fix. You just have to keep running, and survive. It got too big for us too fast." He shrugged. His voice felt tight, painful; he didn't want to keep talking.

Superboy looked pained as well, and asked slowly, "And...Superman?"

Wally grit his teeth. "I just saw news stories, heard rumors. I don't know exactly what happened. All I know is, Superman thought the same way as you—figured he was invulnerable, so it made him invincible against zombies. Not true. It took a lot more of them to bring him down, but from what I heard, they just...overran him." And when Superboy looked disbelieving, Wally added dully, "They don't _stop, _Supey. You saw'em back there. They aren't scared of you or of pain or of dying. They don't feel _anything. _They just keep coming, forever. But people, and I guess Superman too, they aren't like that. They get scared, or tired, or hurt, or feel pain, or they get afraid of hurting those things, try to save them, try to _connect _with them, and it wears them down until they just overrun you, and all it takes is _one_ bite..."

He looked up, gave Superboy an apologetic look. "He saved a lot of people, though. A _lot _of people. He held off a swarm long enough to get half of Metropolis evacuated." _Of course, most of them died later, _Wally thought to himself, but he wasn't going to share that part.

Superboy was silent for a long time, staring at the ground. Wally began to wonder if he'd gone into shock again, when the clone said slowly, "So then...my purpose is to replace him, like I was created for."

But Wally shook his head firmly. "Haven't you been listening to me, Supey?" he said tiredly. "The age of heroes is over. I'm sorry, but it is."

Superboy looked visibly crushed by this. Wally felt like he'd stabbed him in the heart. He hadn't done much to help Superboy so far—just deconstructed every aspect of the world he thought he understood, broken it into itty bitty pieces and scattered them.

"Sorry," he muttered, and then added, "I understand. It's—"

"How could you possibly understand?" Superboy snarled at him suddenly, looking angry. "You don't understand anything! To learn everything you've been made for, that you look up to, is just _gone _like that and you never even had a chance to—"

"My uncle was the Flash," Wally blurted out abruptly, cutting him off. Superboy was stunned into silence, and Wally continued, "I didn't want to believe it happened, for a long time. I mean, I'd only just met him. So I always wanted to pretend the League was off somewhere fighting zombies and they all made it through okay and one day they'd be back to save all of us. I still wanted—_want_—to believe in heroes, because then Uncle Barry would be..."

He didn't have to finish. Superboy got it.

"Surprise," Wally finished lamely. He couldn't quite hide the bitter edge in his voice.

More silence. Superboy looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't quite sure what to do now, but after a moment he said awkwardly, "Sorry. About...yelling." _About your uncle. _

"S'okay," Wally said. "I'm sorry too. I should've explained better." _Sorry you had to learn about your dad dying this way. _

The air was too heavy and depressing by now, and Wally was starting to hate the tenseness of it all. He wasn't one to wallow in self-pity and misery; the fact that he was still alive now, four years later, and still optimistically searching for the rest of his family was proof enough of that.

"Look," he said, tentatively at first, "We should be celebrating! We got out of there alive. Most people wouldn't. That's big. And we've still got our original plan in front of us, too! You don't have to be _forced _into trying to be a replacement, and you still deserve answers, right? Nothing's changed. We just gotta get up to that settlement and talk to my buddy. Hopefully we can figure out all these answers and then you can decide what _you _want to do with your _own _life, without anybody telling you or ordering you or creating you for things. Right?"

Superboy fixed him with a dull look, but after a moment the weak smile, a little bitter but at least _trying, _ghosted onto his face. "Right," he repeated. "Yeah. I'd like that. A choice...my own life."

"There you go," Wally said encouragingly. "Don't worry. We'll get through this. I promise."

And he was going to do his damn best do ensure they did.

* * *

Again, a few lines from the characters are transplanted from the original episodes...but with new context!


	4. Chapter 4

**Age of Heroes**

Part four of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Notes**: A lot of the stuff in this chapter in particular is heavily inspired by Max Brooks' _Zombie Survival Guide _and _World War Z _(not the movie, never the movie!) Some of the tactics and history might sound familiar if you've read them. If you haven't and you're a zombie fan, I _highly _recommend them.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"Ask yourself one question: What will you do—end your existence in passive acceptance, or stand up and shout, 'I will not be their victim! I will survive!' The choice is yours."  
~ _Zombie Survival Guide, _Max Brooks

* * *

The next month or so was devoted entirely to trying to figure each other out as they made their way northeast, up the coast.

Wally spent most of his time teaching his new surrogate sibling as they travelled on foot (the bike had been left behind in D.C. in their rush to escape). In Wally's not-so-humble opinion, Supey couldn't have had a better teacher; he considered himself to be an apocalyptic survival genius by this point. Most humans traveling outside of safe zones did so only long enough to reach a settlement and join it, and the truly adventurous ones would venture out for brief periods to go on scavenging trips. Wally had made a living out of existing outside the settlements while following up on rumors of his family and travelled across the country, meaning he had a lot more experience than most staying alive in zombie-infested territory.

He was happy to share his survival tips with Superboy now. And Supey was a pretty fast learner, he discovered, once Wally got it through his head that he was not, in fact, invincible anymore.

He picked up on foraging and hunting in more wilderness-covered areas quickly, learning how to identify, collect, and properly store edible plants and animals for later. He was also far less squeamish than Wally was about hunting at all, accepting it as a simple necessity, which was good. Wally had felt guilty for a week the first time he caught and killed a rabbit, and had to force the meat down his throat out of pure need. The memory still made him ill years later.

And when they hit more populated areas, suburbs and large towns and city outskirts, Superboy also learned how to scavenge for canned goods, water, medicine, and other immediate necessities for themselves pretty fast. Wally taught him how to keep an eye on expiration dates and when to determine if foods and meds were unsafe or dangerous to consume, because food poisoning or bad drugs could be a death sentence out here—if you were incapacitated for any length of time, it meant the zeds would find you for sure. Wally also taught him how to scavenge for other things, outlining a list of which goods were useful for trade and acted as the best forms of modern currency, and with Superboy's enhanced strength the number of things they could carry away safely increased.

Most important, Wally stressed _repeatedly _the necessity of keeping themselves safe at all times. This one was the hardest lesson for him to get across to Superboy, who was still prone to wanting to fight, and disliked being forced to restrain himself. But gradually Wally started getting across the dire nature of the situation to him, and when he did Superboy took to these lessons, too, with intelligence and skill.

Wally taught him the basics of zombie avoidance, how never to approach them if it could be avoided and to always traverse silently in any place where zombies might be likely to congregate. A general rule of thumb, he explained, was that wherever high densities of humans could be found—cities, for example, or fairly populated towns and suburbs—equally high densities of zombies would likely reside now. Traversing these areas could be _particularly _dangerous, which was why if they could be circled around it was better to do so—unless, of course, you were desperate for the supplies, or couldn't afford to waste the extra time circumventing the area.

Of course, wilderness travel had its own dangers, which he was careful to outline. There would usually be smaller numbers of zeds, maybe only in groups of one or two, but but they could also be hidden almost anywhere without being spotted. Trees and bushes could conceal zombies far too easily, after all. Wally had even once seen a Crawler—a damaged zombie without legs— catch a man by surprise when he came across it in tall grass without seeing it (the encounter still haunted Wally's nightmares). Worst of all was water—Wally stressed time and time again to _never _approach open sources of water like ponds, lakes, and rivers without taking extreme caution and having a weapon at the ready. Zombies didn't drown, and the deterioration the water caused over time did not diminish their strength or their hunger, meaning an unknowing traveler could easily be dragged under and never seen again.

Superboy took it all in stride, and if the frequently grim lessons disturbed him he didn't show it— just kept the frown that Wally was starting to learn was his permanent default expression on his face. Which was good, Wally hoped; it meant his friend was taking this seriously and not ready to give up just yet. Plenty of people thought they could handle apocalyptic wilderness travel, only to discover after a few days of continually watching their back that they couldn't hack it, and usually _that _didn't end well.

In addition to explaining all the _dangerous _places, Wally gave him a quick rundown of the _safe _places as well, and told him how to determine if a chosen campsite was okay or not. Height was usually the most important factor: zombies couldn't climb, although they could sometimes figure out how to crawl up stairwells if they were sloped enough. Second and third stories of buildings, preferably with lockable doors or ladders and fire escapes up to the top, were the best. Roofs were also pretty good if they weren't sloped, although it was hard to hide from the elements in the event of a storm, and trees could be okay too if you were careful about how you slept in them. Shops, homes, schools, and business buildings were typically okay, but hospitals and clinics were to be avoided at all costs as resting places and were only to be entered at _all _if you were desperate to find medications. When the outbreak first happened, thousands of infected victims were rushed to the hospitals, only to die and spread the condition even further, making most medical facilities some of the most dangerous hot-zones for zeds.

Superboy listened very carefully to each and every explanation, and recited everything back to Wally dutifully whenever prompted. Wally made him recite this particular list at least once a day, while they were moving—in the event that they got split up, which Wally hoped wouldn't happen but could never exactly be guaranteed in this day and age, he wanted to make sure Superboy didn't inadvertently get himself killed by choosing a poor shelter.

And of course, there were the lessons in zombie fighting, when necessary. Superboy seemed _particularly _intrigued by these lessons, which didn't surprise Wally in the least. He stressed _many _times the importance of always picking _flight _over _fight _if given the chance, until Superboy actually started rolling his eyes and saying the warning right along with him, but at least he knew. He also repeatedly stressed how important it was not to get bitten, because once you were, it was over—you were infected, you'd be dead in about fifteen to twenty hours, and soon after you'd be trying to munch on your friend's brains.

"Don't make me have to crowbar you," Wally told him grimly, once, when Superboy looked to not be taking the _don't fight _warnings seriously. "It'll kill me to have to do it, but if you get turned into a zombie and come after me I won't have a choice. So be careful and don't get bitten. And I'll do the same so _you _won't have to _actually _punch my face in this time."

Superboy seemed noticeably more subdued during the fighting lectures after that, which was good. Nobody should be excited about fighting zombies, not unless they were crazy or had nothing left to lose. With great care Wally went into details on how to fight zombies properly—the only way to beat them was to kill them, and the only way to do that was by destroying the brain. Once the brain was crushed or disconnected, whatever force was controlling the bodies just _stopped, _and they were just corpses once more.

"Other people think fire is a good idea," he told Superboy once, "but don't believe them. You can eventually burn a zombie to death by reducing the brain—and everything else—to ash. But remember, they don't feel pain, and it takes a while for a corpse to burn. Until then you have a mobile zombie _on fire _attacking you, which is just all kinds of bad. So don't do it."

Superboy actually grimaced at that one, which was a mark of just how gruesome life had gotten, and how desensitized to it _Wally _was getting. If the world ever went right again he wondered if he'd actually be okay in it. He really wasn't sure.

During other points of their travel, Wally filled in the blank spots for Superboy's non-existent memories of the last four years. He gave him brief history lessons on what he remembered going on before Z-day hit, and how everything had gone downhill after that. Most of the information for the past three years or so came from rumor, hearsay, and trading, and originated only from the areas of the country he'd been to.

"International communications sort of died," Wally explained, at Superboy's confusion. "I haven't heard anything about Europe, Asia, South America, or Africa since two-thousand and eight. Not much of a way to stay in contact with him. Things could be completely fine over there and we'd never know. Hell, we can barely keep communications up between American settlements. Only the military-operated ones have any degree of consistent communications and they don't really have much to say to the civilian-controlled refuge areas." Wally's disgust was barely controlled on that last line.

Superboy frowned. "You're not fond of the military."

"Not really. They sort of screwed things up a lot. The Justice League tried to warn them right when the mess first started. I heard Batman had all these contingency plans he tried to feed'em, to try and keep things controlled. But the government and the military spent so much time throwing fits over how they didn't want to give the League command in a time of crisis, and by the time they realized they were being idiots, it was too late." He shrugged. "Most of the League was gone and the outbreak was beyond control. So then they started this terrible campaign over on the western side of the country, trying to use the mountain range there as a natural barrier, and basically threw the entirety of central and eastern US to the wolves."

Superboy's frown grew noticeably deeper, and he did not seem particularly pleased at this show of cowardice or weakness. But all he said was, "But we're on the east coast, and there are still settlements here."

Wally grinned. "I told you, humans are survivors! There's about eight or nine major hubs of safety on our side of the boundary line that are run by some very innovative former civilians. They figured out ways to keep people alive and kept doing it just to tick off the apocalypse. Plus there's hundreds of smaller areas scattered around, where little groups and family units and trading posts and stuff manage to hold out."

Superboy seemed impressed. Although it was still clear he wasn't entirely comfortable with the way the entire world had changed on him seemingly overnight, it was clear he was starting to adapt to it. And, it seemed, he was also learning to appreciate the surprising brand of tenacity and endurance that humans had that outdid even his great strength and invulnerability.

Superboy, for his part, adapted enormously well to the apocalyptic era in more than one way. Because although the age of heroes was long gone and his status as Superman's clone meant little, his powers were still _enormously _useful when it came to surviving. Now that he was familiar with the sounds of zombies and the way they hunted, it was easy for him to identify approaching zeds with his super-hearing _long _before they were in visual range, meaning the two of them could break camp and bolt for it before things really became too dangerous.

His super strength was an enormous asset as well. He had already demonstrated that his high-powered leaps could get them out of potentially dangerous situations with relative ease and little risk if necessary, but beyond that his strength had other benefits. Superboy could easily shift aside massive obstacles or rubble blocking their path, tear their way into blocked or locked buildings for shelter, or even smash stairwells to prevent any particularly determined zombies from reaching them. In the rare event that they were forced to fight for their lives, he had a bad habit of breaking most of the makeshift weapons they came across with his strength—golf clubs, baseball bats, other crowbars, and even pipes and two-by-fours frequently fell victim to his overpowered swings. But that became sort of negligible when he could also pick up desks or sofas or hell, entire _cars, _and fling them at the walking dead from a safe distance, wiping out entire _packs _of zeds in one shot.

The first time he'd done that had actually been pretty epic. Enough for Wally to give him ten minutes of smug satisfaction _before _reaming him out on staying to fight instead of running like he was supposed to.

Traveling with Superboy definitely made things a lot safer, and that wasn't even taking into account the added benefits of having a traveling partner in general. Sure, it was a little harder to feed themselves, with two mouths and not one to look after, and they had to spend a lot more time than Wally was used to hunting or foraging or scavenging for edibles. It dragged out his usually three-week trip along this route to a full month, and some of the longer stretches they were forced to take when they couldn't find enough supplies were...uncomfortable.

But mostly the benefits were worth it. With two people, they had two sets of eyes and ears (one set particularly awesome) keeping a watch for danger and supplies and safe campsites. They could help each other with hunting, foraging, and scavenging, or one of them could keep up a careful guard while the other could focus one hundred percent of his attention on a task. Best of all, they could take watch shifts at night, meaning hours of _real _rest without having to stay partly awake the whole time, listening for tell-tale moans or other signs of danger.

Wally trusted Superboy to watch his back, and he was pretty sure Superboy trusted him the same, which was something depressingly uncommon in this day and age. Survival was all that mattered, the world was dog-eat-dog, and it was rare to find a traveling companion that you could actually trust to not stab you in your sleep and run off with your supplies. But they didn't have to worry about that with each other, and between Wally's knowledge and Superboy's abilities they made a very impressive, efficient traveling team.

And because of that ease and efficiency, and the month-long journey, Wally had plenty of time to start getting to know his friend on a more personal level, outside the super powers and hero's heritage.

It was gradual, and difficult to manage at first, because initially Superboy didn't _have _much of a personal level. Wally had long since determined that Superboy was intended as either a failsafe against Superman, or a weapon for something more sinister, and it was fairly obvious the more time he spent with the clone that Superboy had been allowed to know and think _nothing _outside of what was necessary for this job. It meant he had no favorites, no personality quirks, and no notable character traits to define himself as, well, _himself. _Even his language at first had been exquisitely precise, like somebody had dumped half a dozen advanced-level English textbooks into his head but forgot to make note of colloquialisms or cultural impacts.

But eventually as the days passed, Wally was intrigued to see more of a _person _forming, as the animatronic biological weapon gradually degraded away. At first it was obvious with Superboy's speech, in the way he started using contractions with less studied precision and adapted Wally's slang or vocabulary with growing casualness. Then with personality, as he started forming his own interests and quirks, became less and less "Superman's Clone" and more and more _Superboy. _

He was overconfident and aggressive and enjoyed fighting, but less so because he felt he _had _to and more because he _liked _to. He didn't like admitting to having any form of weakness, often denying being tired or hungry after a particularly large expenditure of his abilities on given days, hinting at a great deal of pride. He also hated failing at anything, and in what Wally suspected was a related issue, he was oddly, tentatively responsive to praise when he did something particularly well—like he was never entirely sure how to take it, but found he sort of enjoyed it. Sometimes when he said 'no' he often meant 'yes' and was just too stubborn to admit he was being agreeable. He enjoyed the taste of rabbit and the wild apples they'd occasionally found in overgrown orchards, but disliked venison and some of the more bitter edible plants they came across. And he had an odd fondness for animals, though he tried hard to hide it (and never quite managed); Wally often noted with amusement the way he'd watch feral dogs and cats in the cities, or deer, foxes, and the occasional bear or coyote in the wilderness.

And Superboy was surprisingly smart, too, once Wally managed to get him into a conversation. The teenager spent the first few days of their travel picking the clone's brain, trying to figure out how far his understanding of the world had gone before Z-day. Superboy had an odd habit of appearing to zone out for a moment, staring blankly ahead, when he was questioned about world events (or, Wally soon learned, many other things), before abruptly reciting a stream of succinct, analyzed information perfectly relevant to the topic. It was almost like the way computers would pause for a moment as the opened up files, and seeing it in a person was a little creepy at first, but Wally eventually got used to it.

And Superboy apparently had a _lot _of files in his head. Wally soon realized that Superboy could accurately summarize world history from the year one-thousand all the way up to a month before Z-day, correctly analyzing all political, social, economical, religious, and military aspects like he was reading straight out of a textbook. Even stranger was that sometimes, after reciting a particular batch of history—especially after the more social or cultural moments, like race riots, country divisions, or particularly cruel acts done in the name of a god or an idealized concept—he would pause and question why it had even happened, as though he didn't understand the thoughts behind what he'd just recited. He had a surprisingly firm understanding of military strategy, entire catalogues of modern military weaponry, vehicles, and their workings, and a frighteningly detailed list of each and every known superhero up until 2007, along with an analysis of each one's strengths and weaknesses, all locked away in his head. And he spoke at least ten active languages fluently, as well as comprehending a number of dead ones.

It was a baffling load of information, and Wally was at first inclined to think that Cadmus had wanted their clone to be super-intelligent as well. Except the more he questioned Superboy the more he started to realize there was something else at work with all the information they'd dumped into his head, and he didn't think it was intended to be for Superboy's benefit. For starters he didn't seem entirely capable of _utilizing _much of the information in his mind; he rarely bothered with combat strategy when they fought zombies, nor had he learned to interpret half of the textbooks scrawled in his head. It was more like it was there for show, less for Superboy to access it. To Wally that meant one thing: Superboy wasn't the one intended to make any of the decisions based around the knowledge given to him, and was only supposed to know enough to react, if necessary.

More frightening to Wally was the specific nature of Superboy's knowledge, because unless it was directly related to military history or languages or other related topics, he had only a high school freshman level understanding of things like mathematics, sciences, literature, and the like. One could argue that everything Superboy had been force-educated with would aid with 'public relations' in the event that he was required to 'replace' Superman. But Wally thought it also sounded suspiciously like preparing a particularly strong and dangerous super-human for _military _combat...or maybe they'd just skip the pretense and go straight to turning him into a tool for some seriously dangerous blitzkriegs.

It was a scary, scary thought, and Wally had to remind himself _repeatedly _that Superboy wasn't going to have to do anything like that anymore. Superboy was allowed to make his own choices, and he wasn't being experimented on or abandoned by Cadmus anymore. Everything would be okay. _Totally _okay. But all the same, he couldn't help but feel protective of the clone, determined to keep him away from those crazy scientists if they ever showed their faces again. And he kept his suspicions to himself—Superboy had been through enough already without having to wonder about the _what ifs _of his purpose, especially since it still seemed to concern him so much.

There was more to Superboy too, although they were subtle things. He wasn't much of a talker, and unless Wally directly asked him something he was usually pretty quiet. But it wasn't in a bad way—Wally found he was a exceptional listener, always paying attention even when he didn't appear to be, and he didn't seem to mind Wally's often inane chatter. It was sort of nice, because back before Z-day Wally was often lectured with anything from amusement to exasperation to irritation about how he was a chatterbox that talked too fast and too often for his own good. But Superboy didn't seem to mind it and didn't interrupt him, which made them pretty good company for each other.

And Wally chattered a _lot, _because he couldn't help it; after being alone for four years, for the most part, it was nice to have somebody besides himself to talk to. When he wasn't giving lectures or lessons on surviving the apocalypse he usually rambled on about mundane things, whatever was on his mind at the time, just to keep things even between himself and Superboy. Sometimes they were weird stories ever since Z-day—his (many) impressive survivalist feats, the strange things he'd seen, the dumb things he'd seen people do, the rare moments of humor that could be found (because you had to hold onto those in a world like this). More often they were things that he remembered from before the outbreak: his favorite movies, bands, video games, foods and shows, the girls he had crushes on, his old science projects and experiments, the places he'd gone on vacation.

It was during one of his rambling sessions that he discovered the _other _more subtle trait Superboy possessed: he could be oddly observant when he wanted to be. Wally had been explaining enthusiastically about how his mother made the _best _lasagna, how she made it just _perfect _like no one else could and the taste was to die for, when Superboy interrupted with, "You talk about them a lot."

"Lasagna?"

"Your family," the clone clarified. "You mention them a lot, in your stories."

"Oh. Sorry." Wally looked away, a little downcast and a little embarrassed; he hadn't meant to go overboard.

Superboy growled in frustration and after a moment managed to mutter, "No, I...sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He looked a little put out; Wally had discovered he was pretty terrible at apologizing, too. Then his usual frown softened a little, his shoulders shifted uncomfortably, and he added, "It's just, you really miss them, don't you?"

"I..." Wally hesitated for a moment, but there was no point lying about it. He _did _miss them terribly, and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't wonder if they were still alive or worry that they might be hurt or scared or worried about _him _and he couldn't do anything to stop it. "Yes," was all Wally said out loud, and still he couldn't quite hide the raw fear and worry and _pain _he felt inside. But Superboy's expression was neutral, and he didn't react with scorn or laugh at how pathetic he sounded.

So Wally added, slowly, tentatively, "I haven't seen them since the outbreak," and sketched out a rough outline of his own personal history, how he'd been separated from his parents and aunt and uncle on a school trip, how Z-day had come, and how he'd never been able to find them again. How he'd been searching ever since for them—how at the beginning _finding them _had been the only thing getting him to get up some mornings, to keep stumbling forward, keep surviving one more day. How it had been terrifying, and how much he still worried, for _them _more than himself. How he didn't even know if they were still breathing, or if they'd been _turned, _or if they were just _gone, _and how he wanted so badly to know and was simultaneously terrified of finding out.

Admitting those things made him the most vulnerable he'd ever been with _anybody _since the outbreak, other than maybe his buddy at the refuge they were heading to. And he felt bad that he was heaping all of this on Superboy, who he was _supposed _to be the unafraid, knowledgable big brother for. But Superboy proved to be an utterly non-judging listener, and when Wally finally talked himself into silence all Superboy said slowly was, "So, that's _your _purpose, then."

"Huh?"

"Your place in this world. The reason you keep going. To find your family. Family can be a purpose." He seemed honestly intrigued and enlightened by the observation.

"Uh. Yeah, I guess." Wally shook his head, winced, and added, "Sorry. I didn't mean to, y'know, dump all that on you. You shouldn't have to deal with all my baggage on top of yours."

Superboy did not appear impressed by the logic, and snorted. "But _you _can take mine _and _yours? You _have _a goal, but you're wasting time to help _me _find answers too."

"I'm not wasting my time!" Wally protested. "I really do want to help you. I mean, we _are _friends."

"So then it's fine for me to listen to _your _problems, too," Superboy countered with surprising ease.

Well, damn. He actually _had _Wally there.

"I, uh, hope you find them," Superboy added more solemnly. He sounded uncomfortable again and his shoulders shifted the same way as before, and he was carefully not looking in Wally's direction when he spoke. Awkwardness practically rolled off him in waves; clearly emotional _anythings _were not things he was used to. "I don't...exactly know what it's like, to have family. But they obviously mean a lot. And I'd be angry if anything happened to people that were important to me."

That was the end of their only real major heart-to-heart (which had, in Wally's opinion, been enough—it was hard enough to remain manly when a large part of your life consisted of running like a baby away from monsters, without adding heartfelt emotional talks to the mix). He did, however, discover that family and emotions weren't the only things Superboy had a hard time comprehending. His experiences of the world were rather limited—largely coming from loads of mysterious brain-data or his personal newly-created memories of an apocalyptic America—which meant his frame of reference for many of the things Wally rambled about ranged from 'slim' to 'nonexistent.' He had virtually no concept of how to have fun, or do normal teenager things, or indeed what 'normal teenager things' even consisted _of. _

It was sort of depressing, in Wally's not-so-humble opinion. Sure, his own childhood had been completely ruined at the age of twelve by a rampaging horde of zombies sweeping the nation, but at least he'd _had _twelve years of junk food, video games and beach visits. Superboy had no memories at all outside of artificially implanted ones, or pure survival, and had seen absolutely nothing good in the world since Wally had re-introduced him to it. Wally was determined to change that, and prove that not _everything _in the new age was terrible.

Of course, it wasn't _easy, _since the fact of the matter was _most _things in the world still _were _pretty terrible. It was hard enough to be a good, _fun _big brother when most of the time you were instructing your sibling how to feed yourself or properly smash in slightly decomposed heads. And being a surrogate sibling was sort of new to him anyway, making it even tougher, since he'd never had a younger brother or sister before. But he was determined all the same to give Superboy at least a few _good _memories that he could hold on to when times got bleak, to remind him that even in an apocalypse not everything was bad.

He wished he could give Superboy some classic kid experiences: take him out for ice cream, visit an amusement park, go swimming at the beach, have a movie marathon, check out a concert, play video games for a day straight in increasingly violent and competitive multi-player modes. These were the things Superboy always seemed puzzled over or unable to grasp entirely, when Wally rambled about them during the quieter and safer moments of their journey. Sadly these things were simply impossible right now, with the state of the world. But Wally wasn't known for giving up, and eventually engineered several other opportunities to teach Superboy about the good side of life.

He started simple. During one of their necessary scavenging expeditions, after skirting around Baltimore, he came across a mostly intact deck of playing cards. It was missing a few cards from the Hearts suite, but miraculously both the jokers were still there, which mostly made up for it. Wally taught Superboy poker, blackjack, cribbage, go fish, and half a dozen other games, taunting and ribbing his surrogate sibling in good-natured fashion to get a rise out of him and engage his competitive streak.

At first Superboy was scowl-y and unresponsive, but gradually he began to get the hang of both of the strategies _and _the taunting, and he had one of the _best _poker-faces Wally had ever seen on anyone, ever. They started betting on basic things to up the ante, then: who got stuck on which sleep shift watch, or who got the last piece of rabbit meat or scoop of canned rations. And during the day, if Superboy reported no dangerous sounds in the area, Wally would idly shuffle the deck in his hands as they walked, and practice his 'magic tricks' ("It's not really magic," Wally would explain with a snort, at Superboy's raised eyebrow, "It's all quantifiable stuff, sleight of hand and probability mostly, but it really impresses the girls when you get it right. Now pick a card and don't cheat with any super-vision!")

But Wally found better opportunities as they travelled, starting with a few days after they crossed over the Pennsylvania line. On their travels they found an abandoned high school that had, of all things, a mostly-intact volleyball court. The nets were a little rotted, but not so badly that they were completely useless, and there was still an intact sports shed off to one side with a decent collection of not-too-deflated balls and a mostly-working pump. Wally made a snap decision, and called for a halt. It was probably not the _best _decision, admittedly, and his instincts _screamed _that he should not be wasting valuable time and energy on this, and that there could be zeds _anywhere. _But he could afford to be a little more relaxed, now that he was traveling with a Kryptonian. Superboy's advanced hearing could give them warnings about approaching zombies _long _before they actually got there, and the field was open enough they'd have advanced visual warning, too. If this didn't pan out they could still be long gone before danger arrived.

So he called for Superboy to set his pack down next to the court (still close enough to grab and run; Wally hadn't abandoned common sense _completely_) and pick a side. The clone did so, perplexed, and Wally gave him a brief rundown of the rules (which he couldn't really remember anymore, so it mostly consisted of 'don't let the ball hit the ground or the other guy gets a point') and volleyed it over the net. Superboy hit it back with so much force it popped on impact. Wally counted it as a point for himself, laughed, and retrieved a second ball from the shed. The second time Superboy was able to rein himself in for the first return volley, but couldn't match Wally's more natural agility and speed when attempting to subdue his own powers, and missed the ball. The third time Wally almost gleefully spiked it at the clone's feet, and laughed at the sullen expression on Superboy's face. "C'mon, dude, I thought you were supposed to be _super! _If you can't keep up with human ol'me, then I think you need more practice!"

Superboy gave him an angry look, and was clearly frustrated by his losses, but the fury retreated slightly when he spotted Wally's grin and realized he was only teasing. His angry look shifted to one of determination instead, and he seemed to focus more carefully on the game after that. Wally hadn't realized this would turn into an exercise for the Kryptonian to learn how to control his vast strength better. But he was surprised to find that after half an hour of play, Superboy was already learning to shift between restraining his strength for volleys, and utilizing it fully for getting around the court quick enough to keep up with Wally's return shots. By the time an hour had passed, and Superboy reported the first telltale signs of hunting moans in the distance, the clone was actually _grinning _as he played, and the look didn't disappear even as they ran for their lives shortly after.

Somewhere past Philadelphia Wally managed to scrounge up a similar opportunity, in an old arcade that had probably seen better days even _before _the outbreak. He wasn't sure if it was nostalgia or inherent suicidal tendencies that sent him in there after Superboy reported hearing a few zombies, but they ended up beating in more than a few dead heads when they _should _have been running (not that Superboy argued, at all). When the wild adrenaline rush had finally worn off and the clone reported no further zombie sounds, Wally took the opportunity to explore. Without any electricity the arcade was dark and cold, and it had absolutely nothing of value for scavenging, which an unimpressed Superboy was quick to point out (Wally had noticed him developing a tendency towards bluntness of late).

"It was much more impressive back in the day, I'm sure," Wally told him. "All this stuff would've been lit up and making noises and the games look like they were pretty cool." He gestured at the details painted on the sides of a few machines, tapped a grimy pinball machine with a fond look, and then grinned at what he spotted in the dark corner. "Oh, _sweet! _Supey, help me drag this thing outside, we'll need light to play it..."

"It" turned out to be an old air hockey table, which Superboy relocated fairly easily to the more sunny outdoors. One of its legs was broken and had to be wedged up with a few blocks of concrete, and it took Wally a while to find an intact puck and a couple of mallets. Once he did and explained how to play, Superboy gave him a rather skeptical look, and asked flatly, "What exactly is the point to this thing?"

"To have _fun,_" Wally answered brightly. "It's not about training or surviving or whatever. It's just fun!" His grin widened, and he added, " 'Course, I'm pretty awesome at this game, so I'll understand if you're too scared you can't beat me."

Superboy's eyes narrowed, but by now he had gotten used to Wally's taunting, and his own determined grin slipped on to his face a lot faster than it used to. "That sounds like a challenge."

"A challenge for _you, _maybe, this is a piece of cake for me!"

"We'll see how easy it is!" And they were on.

It wasn't perfect, of course. The table couldn't be plugged in, meaning there was no actual _air _to the air hockey, so the puck didn't slide as well as it should have, especially when the table was still a bit lopsided. And occasionally it would get stuck in the goal slots, prompting Superboy to pick the entire table up and shake it until it fell out again. But mostly it was fun, and the good-natured ribbing and genuine laughing was just as enjoyable than the game itself. They played three rounds in an hour and a half, and Wally was a little surprised to discover he won two out of three of them, considering who he was up against. But Superboy took his losses surprisingly well, and appeared to genuinely enjoy the game for the game itself, and not the victor. They had been forced to move on as it started to get dark, to hunt out a shelter for the night, but Superboy had clearly enjoyed the experience and that was all that mattered to Wally.

But most notable to Wally was right after they crossed the state line into Connecticut. They had just spent a harrowing week and a half skirting New York City, which was dangerously infested and not even worth attempting to go near, and both he and Superboy were feeling a little strained. So the change of scenery was nice, and when they passed through this tiny blink-and-you-miss it town that the zeds had clearly abandoned long ago in favor of better hunting grounds, neither one was particularly adverse to taking a day off to rest in the relative safety.

There wasn't much of note in the town, but it _did _have a bookshop, and Wally decided to poke through it just because. Superboy followed him, looking around the shop curiously, and they soon split up amongst the shelves to explore.

The place was a bit of a mess—other travelers had clearly been through here in the past. Wally found ashes and the twisted remains of torn up pages, and his inner nerd cried a little at tomes of knowledge now being reduced to fire-starting fuel in the new age, but there wasn't much he could do about that. He swung by the camping section first, but as expected, the survival guides, camping books, foraging and plant encyclopedias, and anything else of current value was long gone. No loss; he probably knew most of it anyway. He poked idly through the comics, paged through a few sci-fi novels, laughed (not without an edge of bitterness) at the enthusiastic display for the 'latest' walking dead bestseller that had come out a couple weeks before Z-day, and frowned in disappointment at the pathetically small selection of non-fiction regarding physics, biology, and chemistry.

Then, on impulse, Wally searched through the store until he found the home and family section, and browsed the shelf until he spotted what he was looking for. Grinning, he snatched the floppy paperback from the shelf and searched for Superboy, intent on sharing his find.

He found the clone in the history section, which didn't come as a surprise. What _did _catch Wally, just a bit, was the book Superboy was looking through almost longingly: _Voices of the League, _the cover read, and the tag on the back added, _An in-depth collection of interviews with our secret guardians that have finally stepped into the light! _Right, of course...the Justice League had gone public in 2007, barely four months before Z-day hit. It had been a big thing, before the apocalypse became a bigger thing.

Wally didn't have to even guess which interview Superboy was reading. Even without seeing the pages, it was fairly obvious, just by the almost wistful look on Superboy's face, and the way he focused on the book so intently; like he was trying to absorb every last detail, reconstruct the person inside just by reading a few written phrases and learning what the interviewee clearly viewed as important. Things he would never, ever be able to discover on his own, because he would never, ever really _know _that person, no matter how hard he tried.

"You can keep it, you know," Wally told him. Superboy blinked and looked up at him with a little surprise. Wally was sure the clone had known he was there, but had also registered him as safe and not bothered to pay attention.

Superboy considered his words for a moment, and then said slowly, frowning, "I thought we weren't supposed to carry what wasn't necessary?"

"No, I think what I specifically said was 'don't carry what you can't carry,'" Wally corrected, "But seeing as you can bench press tanks without breaking into a sweat, I think you're good carrying around a paperback or two."

Superboy smirked a little at that, but his expression grew more solemn a moment later as he glanced down at the book. After a moment he closed it almost tenderly, as if taking a great deal of care not to damage it with his superior strength, and clutched it close almost possessively. "Yeah. I'll...just hold on to this, then."

"Great," Wally said. "Trade you, though." And he tossed his own find at Superboy, deftly (but carefully) snatching the League interview book from the clone's hands when Superboy flailed hastily to catch it.

Superboy gave him a dirty look (he really was getting good at that) and then glanced down at the new paperback in his hands. " '_Baby Boy Names of the Two Thousands'?_"

"Yup!" Wally said with a grin. "We're getting close to the refuge settlement, and cool as 'Superboy' sounds, I don't think it's gonna fly so well around norms. You're gonna need a _secret identity._" His grin grew more conspiratorial.

Superboy frowned, and flipped idly through a few pages of names, but did not seem particularly interested in any of them—or in renaming himself at all, really. After a moment he glanced up at Wally again and said, "I don't know how to pick a name."

Wally rolled his eyes. "Man, you gotta make everything so difficult, Supey, y'know that?" He traded books again, and started paging through the 'most popular' section from the back of the alphabet, reading names and meanings out loud while Superboy watched. "Okay, let's see what we got here...'_Thomas,_' means 'a twin.' Hrm, only found one of you, so I guess that's a bust. '_Oliver,_' haha, 'elf army'...naw, that's totally not you. '_Nathan,_' 'he gave'...he gave _what? _Yeah, no grammatically incorrect names for you, Supey. '_Landon'..._seriously? This is a _name? _Sounds like part of a sentence, _I'm gonna landon that zombie over there. _Yeah, no. Good thing there are no schools anymore or you'd be getting beat up during recess...'course the bullies'd probably break their fingers trying, but, y'know...oh! Okay, here's something." He glanced up to make sure Superboy was still paying attention, and then read out loud, " '_Connor,_' says here it means 'strong willed,' but it could also mean 'wolf lover.' You definitely have the first part down, but how do you feel about wolves?"

Superboy blinked. "Uh...they're okay. The ones we saw back in that forest a few weeks ago were kinda cool."

Wally couldn't help but smirk at that, since 'kinda cool' was an understatement. Superboy was referring to the time they'd watched, from a safe distance, an entire pack of wolves take down a wandering pair of zeds. Animals couldn't be reanimated, of course; there were no zombie deer or bears or skunks, thank God. But the bite still killed them and zombies would still tear them apart, which meant animals tended to keep their distance from the zeds. Wolves, on the other hand, would stop at nothing to take the invading monstrosities down, even if it wiped out half the pack—which it usually didn't, because they were dangerous enough to bring zeds down cleanly and smart enough not to consume them afterwards. Superboy's expression as he watched what amounted to kindred spirits at work had been a mix of deep respect and genuine excitement, which had made the risk of getting close enough to watch in the first place totally worthwhile to Wally.

"Great!" Wally said. "Then it fits you all the way. Connor it is...long as you're okay with it, anyway."

"Connor," Superboy repeated slowly, as though getting used to the unfamiliar name on his tongue. He cocked his head as though listening, and then said with a little more confidence, "My name is Connor." Another pause, and then he nodded. "Yeah. It's fine. I like it."

Wally grinned. "There ya go! Nice to meet you, Connor. No need to bother with a last name, nobody uses'em anymore. Or you can borrow mine if you want, families have been reworked so much in the past few years nobody would bat an eye even if we totally don't look like we're related at _all._"

"Of course we don't," Connor smirked. "You're way too short compared to me."

"Hey!" Wally groused with good humor. "Man, you rescue an alien from a pod and give him a name and this is the thanks you get..." He snorted, tossed the baby name book aside idly, and added almost as an afterthought, "Still gonna call you Supey outside of the crowds, though. It just fits."

Superboy said nothing in response, but his nod was agreement enough. He'd never argued against the nickname before, and by now it had layers of familiarity to it that just _stuck _for both of them.

They stayed in that little blink-and-you-miss it town for a full day, relishing in the rest, before pushing on at a faster pace. They were close to the refuge now, and Wally was anxious to finally get there, now that they were on the final stretch. But the journey had proved interesting, and there had been plenty of successes outside of pure survival. Superboy—_Connor_—seemed more alive than he had when Wally first pulled him out of the pod, a little more natural, more..._human. _

And, Wally realized with some surprise, the same could actually be said of _himself. _He'd always tried to stay optimistic, as he searched for his parents and his Aunt Iris and (maybe) even his Uncle Barry; to believe they could still be alive, so that he could keep going. But he was starting to realize, after spending a month traveling with Superboy, how much he'd just been merely _subsisting _up until now. Before it had been survival and little else: getting together the exact, precise physical needs in order to keep going for the next day, making sure he was physically capable of traveling safely and efficiently, making sure he had the physical materials necessary to barter for even more survival.

But now that he was looking out for somebody else, doing his best to make sure they didn't just survived but _enjoyed _life as much as possible, he was starting to realize how little of that he'd been doing himself. He'd been living for others before, but always in the future. Now that he was living for somebody else _right now, _he felt a lot more..._alive. _And he realized, the farther they went on this journey, that to _really _make it through the apocalypse, you had to do more than just _survive: _you had to _live. _Appreciate what you had, never waste a moment, and get what enjoyment you could, no matter how bleak life might otherwise look.

So maybe it wasn't entirely a one-way rescue, after all. He might have pulled Superboy out of Cadmus, adjusted him to post-Z-day life, and taught him how to have fun—but Connor had, knowingly or not, given him a few lessons as well.

And somehow that left Wally feeling a lot more light-hearted than he had in almost four years.

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My sincerest apologies to anybody actually named Landon (or Oliver, Nathan, or Thomas). Wally is an inconsiderate jerk sometimes. He doesn't mean it, really.


	5. Chapter 5

**Age of Heroes**

Part five of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note:** I'm using the layout for the _Arkham Asylum _video game here, which I found particularly interesting since it's an _island_. I don't think we ever actually see Arkham in _Young Justice _so hopefully this is okay...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

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"Many people think it's in bad taste to advertise for an insane asylum...but come on down. We're going crazy."  
~Colin Mochrie

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"So, what do you think?" Wally asked with a grin, as he and Superboy stood on Gotham City's decrepit docks one late afternoon and stared out over the water at the foreboding-looking island. He'd known where they were heading for _weeks, _but had kept the details to himself, mostly so he could see Connor's reaction when they first set eyes on the refuge settlement.

Superboy looked skeptical as he eyed the island and the gothic-looking buildings atop it. "_That's _the settlement? It's...it's very..."

"Impressive? Amazing? Terrifyingly awesome?"

"...Not what I expected."

"It's because it's an insane asylum, isn't it," Wally said, with mocking disapproval.

Arkham Island, and the infamous Arkham Asylum that it played host to, was admittedly still an imposing structure years after Z-day—in a large part due to its conversion from unconventional medical facility and prison to one of the last purely human strongholds on the East Coast. Its official name now was technically 'Arkham Refuge,' or sometimes 'Arkham Tradepost,' depending on what part of the country you were in and how well their communications held up. But some smart-ass had decided to paint over the 'Welcome to Arkham Asylum' sign ages ago with _New Batcave _in bold red letters, and the name had stuck with the locals ever since. It was a fitting title: New Batcave was one of the most defensible, most advanced, most equipped, safest refugee communities in America, second only to the military communities on the West Coast, and it was _the _most successful civilian-created community in the country, period. And Wally could say that with certainty, because he'd _been _to many of them, and nothing held up to New Batcave when it came to preparedness, in his opinion.

It was sort of strange to think about—foreboding, twisted Arkham Asylum turning into one of the safest places in the world to be—and Wally supposed if somebody were to beam in from another world somehow that fact would probably make them realize just how _dark _this world had become. But it made _sense, _honestly, when one looked at the history of the past four years. When the initial outbreak had begun and the dead began to feast on the living, things had been chaotic. Arkham's inmates had taken that chaos as a prime opportunity to stage an enormous breakout, and had almost gleefully made their escapes while Arkham's staff was stretched thin, as its guards and doctors volunteered in the defense against the zeds.

Unfortunately for the prisoners, their stroke of good luck turned into an even worse stroke of _bad _luck, and they'd escaped into Gotham only to run straight into the rapidly growing infestation of zombie hordes. Many of the super-villains, and the majority of the 'regular' inmates, had died or were turned almost right away. The survivors hadn't been seen again either, even to this day; they were either smart enough to escape or had simply died out of sight and out of mind. Either way, they'd never returned to Arkham again, and with life like it was there was little opportunity to hold an already dying world hostage or wreak further havoc. The Age of Heroes might have been something of the past, but it had, thankfully, at least mostly taken the Age of Super-villains with it.

With the Asylum sitting wide-open and abandoned, a few opportunistic survivors with their eyes on the future had seen its new potential, and moved on in. The island was reclaimed, the few zombies that had managed to wander in and not find their way out again were destroyed and disposed of, and the bridge leading to the island was blown. And suddenly, Arkham was a fully defensible fortress of sheer cliffs sitting in the middle of a protective body of water, with all of the necessary space and facilities a colony of survivalists might need. In the past three and a half years since its reclaiming rulership had been established, systems had been hammered out, supplies had been gathered, and defenses and necessities were repeatedly improved upon, until it was what it was today: a fully operational settlement of hardy survivors with a human-controlled foothold, and a tiny sliver of hope at the chance of a better future.

Of course, for newcomers to New Batcave, the thought of living in an insane asylum was still a bit..._troubling, _at least at first. Superboy was no exception, and frowned as he said slowly, "I...the information in my head doesn't exactly have _good _records about Arkham Asylum. The statistics are a bit..._bad._"

"Don't worry about it!" Wally told him cheerfully, slapping him on the back as he idly scanned the harbor for the New Batcave watchers. "I know the guy in charge; he says about ninety-five percent of the time they don't deal with crazy people there anymore. _Or _make new ones."

"So what happens to the other five percent?"

Wally shrugged. "Well, I mean, you always get _some _interesting cases during zombie apocalypses. Some people just can't take the heat, y'know? There's a whole new mess of traumatic stress disorders related to zombies. People would probably be studying and making breakthroughs in them right now if they weren't busy running for their lives."

"So if Arkham's now for people who aren't crazy...then where do _those _people go?"

"Dunno. They're probably still on Arkham too somewhere...getting what passes for treatment. Or maybe some studying. It's an insane asylum, you know."

"This really isn't reassuring," Superboy told him flatly.

Wally laughed, but then added more seriously, "I know it sounds kinda strange, Supey, but I've been around a few settlements by now while searching for my family. The ones that usually last are set up in prisons and military facilities, or sometimes schools. They're some of the most defensible locations, but they still have access to a lot of the stuff you might need."

Superboy shook his head a little. "It's been a month," he said, "But sometimes this world still makes no sense."

"Not gonna argue with that, and it's been way longer for me," Wally told him. "Ah, there we go!" he paused and started waving his arms at the small sailboat that had appeared in the distance, circling around New Batcave. The island defenses included a number of regular patrollers in the water that were active night and day, keeping an eye on Gotham City's coastline for potential zombie threats and living travelers alike. Wally kept waving to flag this one down silently—shouting wouldn't help, and it might attract zeds, even though New Batcave was also pretty efficient at at least keeping the city's docks relatively clean. He was rewarded a minute later, when the boat shifted suddenly and began to speed towards them.

And _speed _was the keyword, Wally realized a moment later, eyes widening. The craft was moving for them quickly and without the use of its sails, which he realized were not even unfurled. He'd have guessed it was a motorboat, except he hadn't seen one of those working in a long time, due to a lack of fuel to keep them running.

"I think somebody's pulling that," Superboy said, frowning a little. Wally blinked at him and turned back to look, but he couldn't really tell. He decided to trust Supey on this one, since he'd long since discovered the Kryptonian had much sharper vision than him, and that wasn't even counting when he _cheated _with infrared vision for things like hunting.

The boat was closer now, and abruptly began slowing to a halt as momentum stopped being supplied by...whoever was moving the craft. It drifted closer to their dock, but stopped a good ten feet away, bobbing on quiet swells of water. There was nobody in it. Baffled, Wally was just about to open his mouth and ask _what _exactly Superboy had seen...when he caught sight of it himself, in the form of a pair of bright silvery eyes watching them from beneath the dark water.

"Geez!" Wally yelped at an embarrassingly high pitch, and backpedaled away from the edge of the dock. The pale eyes continued to watch him, reminding him of a shark, and his heart thumped as, for one terrifying moment, he was sure zeds had finally learned to swim and this one was _hungry. _Superboy let out a low, rumbling growl that Wally had learned usually preceded a fight. And if the situation weren't quite so serious, he'd have actually laughed at the way the clone shifted himself defensively, sidling an inch to the right to better put himself between Wally and the watcher.

Then Wally's head and common sense caught up with him, and he hissed, "Knock it off, man! They came with the boat, they're probably allies, right?"

"_Probably?_" Superboy questioned. His voice still rumbled dangerously, and his entire body was tense, still between Wally and the watcher. "I thought you'd been here before!"

"I have," Wally said. "This is new though—oh! Um...hi?" The watcher had bubbled up to the surface suddenly, head and shoulders now above the waves as he effortlessly tread water.

"Good afternoon," the figure said, in precise, formal English, as though it wasn't his first language. "My apologies for frightening you. I thought it best to be cautious before approaching; it can sometimes be...difficult...to distinguish living humans from undead ones."

Wally blinked at the way the person made particular note of _humans _versus zeds, and as the figure leapt easily out of the water to join them on deck it was suddenly apparent why. He was dark-skinned, fairly tall, and barefoot, but his most striking features were the gills on his neck and the paler webbing between his fingers and toes. "Oh, _duh,_" Wally said, now feeling like an idiot. "You're an Atlantean, aren't you?"

He couldn't hide the excitement in his voice at the question. Atlanteans were _extremely _rare on the surface these days, and most people didn't even know about them; Wally only did because he'd at least gotten a _few _stories out of Uncle Barry, and been around the East Coast when the outbreak started. When Z-day hit and most of the League had gone down, Aquaman had been one of the confirmed casualties. The Atlanteans had not taken kindly to their king being killed in a human conflict, and became even more enraged when they discovered it might have been avoided—if proper cooperation and coordination in a united effort had been used, as the League had suggested.

Their response was to retreat to their homeland under the sea completely, often refusing to acknowledge distress calls or attempts at negotiation. It wasn't an entirely unwarranted response, especially since Atlanteans were mostly safe from the zombie threats in the ocean. Zeds would walk along the ocean floors in search of prey, and a careless Atlantean could still be caught and killed, or even turned. But it was rare, since they were far more maneuverable in the water. Additionally, Atlantis was located so deep in the ocean that the water pressure would typically crush any wandering zeds _long _before they reached its outskirts, making it the_ only _city on Earth completely, one-hundred-percent resistant to the human varieties of walking dead.

Wally had never even _seen _an Atlantean before, let alone met one face to face, so this was sort of exciting. Not to mention, if Atlanteans were working with New Batcave's defenses, then that had _huge _implications for relations between Atlantis and at least one human stronghold.

"I am," the figure answered. He said it with a quiet, calm sort of pride, but also regarded Wally carefully, like he wasn't entirely sure how the human would take the answer. The same careful look was given to Superboy a second later, who was still crouched somewhat defensively, looking ready for a fight.

Wally elbowed his companion in the ribs (and regretted it an instant later—stupid invulnerability) and said, "Sweet! Sorry, you just caught me by surprise is all, I've never met one of you guys before." The Atlantean stiffened slightly, and belatedly Wally realized that maybe that hadn't exactly come out quite right—there he went again, mouth too fast as always. "Crap, I didn't mean it that way, I'm not trying to sound rude or anything, I just—y'know what? Take two. My name's Wally. Nice to meet you." And he stuck out his hand.

The other figure hesitated for a moment, but then slowly reached out to shake (it was a bit of a strange experience when webs were involved). "I am Kaldur'ahm," he introduced himself. "And your companion...?"

Wally was about to introduce his friend himself, but Superboy beat him to it. He'd drawn back into a regular stand at Wally's warning nudge, still looking wary. But when the conversation turned to him, he hesitated only briefly before suddenly rattling off something in another language. Wally blinked—that didn't sound like anything _he _knew, other than the 'Connor' he'd heard somewhere in there—but Kaldur'ahm looked shocked, and a smile crept slowly onto his face. He responded accordingly in the same language before switching back to English, saying, "It is a pleasant surprise, to find somebody on the surface world that still speaks our tongue. You are, perhaps, the most..._interesting..._travelers I have met since coming to the surface world."

He was markedly more friendly with them after that, portraying a calmness and level-headedness that was remarkably refreshing after some of the more cut-throat varieties of people Wally had gotten used to meeting. As the Atlantean turned to draw the boat closer to the dock for their benefit, Wally hissed under his breath, knowing Superboy would hear it anyway, "Dude, what did you _do? _He was ice cold until you said...whatever!"

"It's a formal Atlantean greeting," Connor muttered back, leaning close enough that Wally could still hear him. "It's supposed to show respect and no intent for aggression."

Wally shook his head in disbelief. _Superboy_, showing no intent for aggression? And when the clone had said he knew at least ten languages via brain downloads, he hadn't mentioned one of them had been _Atlantean. _He'd figured it'd just be French and Spanish and German and stuff. "Nice call," he muttered back. The ghost of a grin passed over Superboy's face, but he said nothing.

Kaldur'ahm had returned by then with the boat in tow, now secured by means of the rope in one of his hands. "Get in," he instructed warmly. "I will take you to the island personally and with all speed." They obliged, tossing their packs into the bottom of the boat and clambering down afterwards while the Atlantean held the craft steady for them.

Once they were ready, Kaldur'ahm tossed in the rope as well and climbed in himself with all the ease and fluidity of the water around them, and pushed them away from the mainland docks. He waved his hands over the edges of the boat for a moment, and then the craft turned quickly and shot towards the island in the distance with the same surprising speed as before. Wally looked around, but saw no hint of motors or paddles or anything else that might be doing it, and finally said, "Hey, uh, Kaldur'ahm—"

"You may call me Kaldur," the Atlantean interrupted, with a soft smile. "All my friends do."

Wally grinned back at him warmly. "Kaldur it is! So, uh, where are you getting the speed? You're not even using the sails!"

"Magic," Kaldur answered. His hands made another quick pass over the edges of the boat, and it sped up for a moment, as if it had just been paddled forward. Wally blinked and glanced over the edge, carefully so he didn't fall in, and saw the water roiling beneath them as if it were alive, glowing just slightly. "I have studied at the Conservatory of Sorcery in Atlantis for many years. Hydromancy and hydrokinesis are of particular importance to my people."

Wally looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to argue against the existence of magic and perhaps find a more logical, scientifically feasible explanation for the water manipulation. But Superboy elbowed _him _hard in the ribs, this time—Wally was sure he was now going to have _that _bruise for a week—and glared at Wally so hard he could almost _feel _the burning holes in his face, even though they'd long since established the clone was heat-vision-less. The message was clear: do not question the magic. Well, Superboy was the one with the Atlantean language download; Wally would trust him on the cultural significance of superstitious nonsense as well.

Thankfully, Kaldur was seated at the front of the boat with his back to them as he directed the craft, and had not witnessed the exchange. Wally covered up his pained grunt at the super-powered elbow to the ribcage with a faint, "_Sweet,_" and once he'd recovered his breath, added with more genuine interest, "So, uh, things all going alright down there, then?"

Kaldur glanced over his shoulder for a moment and frowned. "Yes," he said slowly, "Things are going very well in Atlantis." The response sounded clipped, guarded, and just slightly bitter.

Wally winced. "Ah. Uh. Sorry. Didn't mean to like, pry or anything..."

But Kaldur shook his head. "My apologies. I did not mean to be curt with you. Atlantean politics have been..._strained..._of late." After a moment of hesitation, he added more softly, "Most of my people believe our isolationist policy is to our benefit and live comfortably below, as though the world above is not dying. But not all of us agree that this is right."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that's why you're hanging around New Batcave?"

"Yes. I, and a few others, are hoping to make a difference." Kaldur sighed, and glanced back over his shoulder, this time towards the ruined Gotham skyline. "Though I fear we may have made the decision a bit too late."

"Better late than never," Wally told him, with cheer that wasn't _entirely _forced. Beside him, Superboy nodded quietly.

They switched to lighter topics for a short time, as Kaldur guided the craft closer to the island. Wally enthusiastically asked about how things worked below the surface, which the Atlantean answered with patience and the occasional amused smile, and he in turn asked questions about the surface—what it had been like before, and what it was like now. Connor, for the most part, remained quiet, although he occasionally volunteered his own opinions or observations on the things he'd seen since being woken. Not that either of the mentioned _that _part.

Then at last they had arrived. Kaldur carefully shifted the boat up next to the makeshift single dock that had been built at the end of the natural, rocky road leading up to Arkham, where the destroyed bridge had once connected it to the mainland. He helped them out of the boat, handing them their packs carefully, and then leapt up onto the docks after them one last time to say his farewells.

"I have been working in concert with New Batcave and its leaders for several months now, as have my companions," he told them. "It has been the most agreeable, most accepting colony we have found so far, and of course its ocean front suits us. We will be here for some time yet. I do not know how long the two of you intend to remain here, but if you require assistance in the future—perhaps transportation to a safer part of the coast—do not hesitate to ask. I would be happy to assist."

"Wow, Kaldur, that's real nice of you," Wally said. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but any reason why?"

Kaldur shrugged. "Adapting to the surface world has been...difficult," he explained. "It is no wonder; your people are frightened and worn, and most of them have never seen Atlanteans, or distrust us because they believe we abandoned them. It has been a pleasure to meet travelers with a more positive outlook on life."

Well, that certainly explained the wariness earlier. Kaldur had probably been expecting ranting or outright rejection from weary, frightened travelers. "Oh. Well, y'know. Anytime!"

Kaldur chuckled. "It has been good to meet you, Wally," he said, and then said something to Superboy in Atlantean. Superboy responded in kind, and Kaldur nodded before diving off the dock and vanishing into the water with barely a splash. The boat twisted in the water and zipped off to return to patrolling rounds a moment later, leaving them standing alone.

"Okay," Wally said, "That was pretty cool. Now I _really _can't wait to talk to my friend here, I've got a lot more questions for him than I first thought." He shouldered his pack and gestured for Superboy to follow after him.

Back before Z-day, Arkham Island had possessed a jutting point almost like a land bridge on its northern end, that reached towards the mainland. Years and years ago a mechanical bridge had eventually been constructed to link the mainland to the island, and this was destroyed when Arkham was reclaimed and slowly converted into New Batcave. It still possessed a short road leading up to its gates, though—cracked and worn, but still providing an obvious enough path up to the entrance. Once upon a time the road had been lined with spooky-looking gangly trees, Wally knew from photos, but those were long gone now, chopped down to provide lumber for New Batcave's various construction projects. It made the entryway look a bit barren and dead, and Wally almost wondered what would have been more preferable, the gothic graveyard visuals or this post-apocalyptic wasteland look.

It also meant there were absolutely zero obstacles to obscure vision up to the gate, meaning the guards were waiting for them when they finally approached. There were eight of them on the ground, waiting underneath the old sculptures of ominous-looking robed figures carrying lanterns that stood on either side of the gate. Several more were up on the reinforced walls, where the decorative but largely useless barred gates had been replaced a long time ago by stronger—and taller—stone partitions. All but two were armed with various models of bows and crossbows, and the last two more impressively with hunting rifles, all of which were trained on Wally and Connor as they approached. There were also two dogs, large well-muscled specimens that looked like crosses between a german shepherd and a rottweiler, each one standing next to its master with the air of well-trained police animals. None of them made a noise, just waited as the two travelers approached.

Wally was aware of the low rumbling noise in Superboy's throat very suddenly, and realized his companion was tensing again, looking like he was preparing for a fight. "Woah, _Connor,_" he hissed warningly, reminding him who he was supposed to be at the moment, "Relax, everything's okay! They just guard the place, make sure no zombies get in. They just have to make sure we're not zeds or zeds-in-waiting. Just stay calm and do what they tell you, alright?"

Superboy did not look happy with this order, and clearly did _not _enjoy having the weapons trained on them like this. Or rather, Wally realized after a moment, he didn't seem to like that they were trained on _Wally, _which he supposed made sense; Superboy would survive getting shot by everything here, after all, but Wally would be turned into swiss cheese pretty fast. It must have worried him, but it was misplaced. Well, he'd just have to show Superboy it was okay before he did something too rash.

Grinning with as much cheer and charm as he could muster, Wally stepped forward into speaking range, holding up his hands slowly to show he was unarmed. "Hey guys," he said, being very, _very _careful to accentuate the fact that he could speak as well, "Just a couple travelers stopping in for some trade and a chance to rest safely. No dead heads here."

The guards nodded to show they had heard him, but did not lower the weapons just yet. "Your friend?"

"Go ahead and introduce yourself, Connor," Wally told him—stressing the name again between them, just to be safe—and then to the guards he added for Connor's benefit, "I found him running it solo down south, figured he could probably use the rest, but he, uh, hasn't been around people for a while. Bit jumpy." Well, it was mostly true, anyway, and it wouldn't be the first time newbies had been shocked and nervous about New Batcave's security.

Sure enough, one of the guards nodded, and said sternly but not unkindly, "Just give us yer name, okay, kid?"

Superboy grit his teeth and glared at the guards a little distrustfully, but after a moment said, "My name is Connor. I'm not a zed."

This seemed to be enough for the guards to lower their weapons, although the bowmen kept arrows nocked if not drawn, just to be safe. "You can come forward to be searched," the lead guard told them, gesturing with one hand as he set aside his rifle.

"Searched?" Superboy questioned, still sounding distrustful.

"They just have to make sure we weren't bitten," Wally assured him hastily. "Or that we're not carrying anything that could infect people. They don't want to let anybody in that could turn while inside the walls. One zombie on the inside could ruin everything they've worked for."

Wally stepped forward and handed over his pack, and then dutifully obeyed the instructions of the guards, shrugging off his jacket so they could check him for tell-tale bites or bloodstains. They worked quickly and efficiently to look him over, while another guard looked quickly through his supplies and trade goods and then set it down for the guard dog to examine. Nothing was found on Wally or in the pack, and just as quickly the guards handed him back his jacket and repacked his possessions, returning them without any attempts at bribery or theft. New Batcave ran a tight ship with its guards, which were extremely well-trained, disciplined, hand-picked by the head of security, and given regular evaluations to make sure they weren't engaging in any dangerous or unethical practices. A breakdown in security would put the entire island at risk, and New Batcave's leaders were determined to prevent it from even becoming a problem to begin with—not to mention they were clever enough to learn from Arkham Asylum's previous experiences.

Superboy still hadn't come forward for his own search, and did not seem pleased with the precautions. Wally winced a little inwardly. He'd been wondering how Superboy would react to other people that weren't him, and had hoped after meeting Kaldur that he'd handle it okay. But apparently being trained to be a living weapon, followed by four years of isolation in a pod and then a month of apocalyptic survival training, were not really things that helped one develop social skills. Superboy was not comfortable with the situation, and when he got uncomfortable he also had a tendency to get violent.

"Connor," he said, "It's _fine. _Seriously. Just takes a few seconds. Relax, we've got nothing to hide, remember?"

It was a subtle reminder to _not _cause trouble because if they did people would start looking closer, and if they started looking closer they would realize Superboy looked _awful _familiar and maybe was not entirely human. Connor got the message, clearly, because although he grit his teeth and his frown was so deep it was almost scary, he grudgingly came forward and handed over his pack. Just like Wally, the search was over quickly, but even so Superboy was tense the entire time and clearly was not fond of people being this close to him or touching him.

"There ya go, kid," the same guard as before said—again, not unkindly—as he handed the bag back. The men seemed to think Superboy was one of the more shell-shocked zed survivors, dazed or frightened by too much human contact, and were at least attempting to make things easier on him. It wouldn't be the first time they'd met civilians so unused to people or kindness after surviving that they didn't know how to handle it, after all. "Doing just fine. Just the dog test and yer done."

"Dog test?" Superboy questioned, giving Wally a quick look.

"Just gotta walk past the dogs," Wally supplied for him quickly. "Remember how animals out in the wilderness could tell when zeds were around and they'd run or go quiet? Well, people figured out you can train dogs to do the same thing. If we were infected they'd know and start freaking out, barking and stuff. But they won't, because we're not."

He gestured for them to move forward when the guards signaled they were ready, with one dog set up on either side like a primitive biological metal detector. The dogs sat there placidly, unconcerned, although the one on Superboy's side gave him a quizzical sniff at the unfamiliar scent of Kryptonian before tentatively licking his hand. Connor blinked, but gave the dog a careful pat on the head in return, smiling faintly. Wally thought it was kind of funny, and a little sad, that Superboy did better with the burly, scary-looking zed-dogs than other people, but kept his observations to himself.

"You're good," the guard leader said to Wally, as Superboy left the dog and came to stand behind him. "You need instructions or references for inside?"

"No, I know where I'm going and who I'm speaking to," Wally assured quickly. "Been here a few times." The guard nodded, and signaled to several of the others up on the walls. A moment later the gate creaked open just enough to let a person slip through, and Wally led the way into New Batcave proper.

* * *

The idea of turning Arkham Asylum into a zed-refuge was ultimately what gave me the incentive to start writing this fic...the irony was just too delicious to pass up!


	6. Chapter 6

**Age of Heroes**

Part six of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note:** The interior is, again, largely based off of _Arkham Asylum_'s layout. Look up a map from the game if anything is confusing, but I did my best to describe everything accurately!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum."  
~Havelock Ellis

* * *

"I didn't like that," Superboy growled, glancing distastefully over his shoulder as the gate snapped shut behind them again. He still looked a little anxious, with leftover discomfort that caused him to be a bit snappish and surly as a result. "They could have shot you. Or made a mistake. Or taken all the things we scavenged."

Wally sighed. "I don't like it either, Supey, but it is necessary. And they're strict about it here—this is the only way in, those gates lead to sheer cliffs about a hundred yards in either direction, and _everybody _gets checked, every time. Better to just deal with it, especially since New Batcave is pretty good about having decent guards."

Superboy did not look appeased. After a moment, though, he asked, "What would have happened if one of us got infected?"

"They wouldn't get to come in," Wally said, rather evasively. It wasn't a topic he wanted to pursue further. He'd seen the results, here and elsewhere, and it was always haunting and unpleasant: infected victims, or their terrified family members or friends, begging, pleading, _sobbing _for the victims to be let inside. It couldn't happen—a single infected victim could spread the Z-plague quickly and suddenly through an unsuspecting community, and they couldn't take the risk. But it was still sick and terrifyingly wrong to watch those people be torn away from their families or denied their last shred of chance at hope and comfort. And sometimes it was worse. At New Batcave, they simply turned infected victims away. Wally had heard of—and, to his horror, even witnessed—a few shoot-on-sight policies at other colonies. In some places it was considered a mercy, but to Wally it was just plain sick and _wrong _all the same. Those memories were some of the _many _twisted things that haunted his dreams at night.

Superboy caught the darker tone in his voice quickly, and didn't push further, for which Wally was grateful. He really did not want to discuss this with Superboy right now. Instead, he gestured to the landscape in front of him and said, "Well, here we are. Bat-colony Sweet Bat-colony. What do you think?"

If New Batcave was impressive on the outside, it was even more so on the inside. The northernmost point, where they were situated, had once been a mass of withered trees, followed by wide-open grounds with watchtowers and guard stations. The trees, like the ones outside the gate, had long since been cut down and converted to lumber, but the towers and buildings remained; some were still used as watch points and security stations, while others had clearly been converted to storage sheds or workshops. The ground was almost invisible by now—the wide-open courtyards and lawns had long since become an intricate system of semi-permanent weaving streets, stalls, work stations, and lean-to shelters, where visitors rested, traded for goods and news, gossiped, and earned their keep. On the far side of the island, spreading from west to east, were the major buildings that had made up the original Arkham complex, and still served as vital parts of New Batcave today.

There were people _everywhere. _And while many of them had the haggard, tired, dull-eyed looks of people barely pulling through in the apocalypse, there were just as many that were bright-eyed and energetic, working confidently or going about their day without that air of inevitability hanging over their shoulders. Life was hard, here, but not impossible, and the people had some degree of hope.

Wally had been to New Batcave several times, now—he liked to check in with his friends and trade for supplies here in between trips—but it never ceased to amaze him. He was pretty sure it had one of the highest populations out of the major colonies, but even so they managed to keep a stunning amount of order here at the same time, and the people actually felt, if not happy, at least somewhat _content _here, and safe. They weren't living in terror of zeds or distrust of their fellow humans; they were surviving, there was a community, and there was control, which was better than most of the world at the moment.

A quick glance at Superboy told him the clone was equally amazed by what he was seeing, although perhaps not for the same reasons. Wally appreciated New Batcave for the potential good future it offered, and for being granted the ability to see _some _semblance of society again. When he spent most of his time wandering the world alone, it was always nice to see _people, _just to remind yourself you weren't the only one left in the world. Superboy, on the other hand, had never seen this many people gathered together before in one place, and appeared a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the rush of sights, smells, sounds, and general feeling of _life _everywhere.

"There's so many," Superboy said, almost weakly. "And they're all...none of them are..."

"All alive," Wally confirmed. "No zeds. Yeah, I know, it's a little weird seeing this many live-ers after dealing with big packs of dead heads." He gave Superboy a gentle nudge on the arm, as if to say _chill out, it's all okay, _and noted the tenseness in the clone's muscles when he did. Okay, maybe this wouldn't be as easy as he thought. "C'mon, let's go."

He lead the way through the improvised streets, shifting through the myriads of people with Superboy in tow. New Batcave was divided into three parts, Cave North, Cave East, and Cave West, and everything Wally was presently looking for was on the Eastern side. He moved with the ease of somebody who knew precisely where he was going and what he was doing, reveling in the displays of people as he passed. Most people spoke English, but he heard smatterings of other languages or strong accents here and there. There were splashes of color and hints of old fashion in some of the clothing, since it was a safer community and not everybody had to be outfitted in survival gear or whatever they could find in their size. Most people were willing to smile and nod at a passing stranger too, which Wally often returned, and only rarely did he get a distrustful, watchful looks from vendors when he glanced at displays of tradable merchandise spread out on blankets or in makeshift carts. And there were _girls, _which Wally saw far too infrequently these days; he grinned and winked at a number of them as he passed, and managed to _mostly _conceal his seething jealousy every time said girls eyed his companion more than him.

Superboy, for his part, didn't seem to like the looks—or anything else here, for that matter. The press of bodies and constant movement seemed to make him tense, and Wally suspected the constant barrage of noises from people building things, shouting for trade, calling for families, occasionally playing music and singing, or just generally chatting, was probably a bit much for his super-sensitive hearing. Connor stuck as close as possible as he could to Wally, keeping a wary eye around them at all times as if he was expecting to be attacked at any moment, and his default frowning stare was so deep it was actually scaring a few of the locals (if the way they backed away was anything to judge by). Wally occasionally gave him a pat on the arm or a reassuring grin just to keep reminding him the place was safe. It did seem to put Superboy slightly more at ease whenever he did, for a short while, but it never lasted long. Wally just wished he could tell if his companion's discomfort came from the first stages of zed-paranoia, or if it was because he was just naturally anti-social.

Superboy _was _paying attention, though, and after pushing their way up the narrow makeshift streets for half an hour he finally slid close enough to mutter in Wally's ear, "There's so many people our age...way more than fully grown adults. Why is that?"

Wally winced slightly. It was a bit of a bitter topic. "The child-to-adult ratio here is pretty screwed," he explained slowly, pitching his voice low so the others around him wouldn't hear; nobody really needed reminding of this. "When Z-day first hit things were pretty messed up. Lots of adults volunteered for the defenses, either fighting the zeds or helping with treatment and behind-the-scenes stuff. We didn't really know how to fight the dead heads when they first showed up, so a lot of the original military reserves were overrun pretty fast. The adults just knew it was dangerous, so while able-bodied volunteers headed towards the zeds, they started organizing other volunteers to ship kids off to these so-called _safer _camps to be protected."

"Like Operation Pied Piper, in World War Two," Superboy observed. "When thousands of children were moved to outlying areas of England to protect them against potential massive bomb strikes from Germany."

"Yeah, might've even been the inspiration for _this _mess," Wally said, voice still low. "Didn't work near so well though. All we really got were more dead adults and lots of abandoned kids. I actually got shipped to one of the child camps myself, just outside Gotham—it was scary as hell. When the zeds attacked there weren't enough adults to hold them off, and too many kids. Most of us didn't know what to do or how to fight or survive. I was one of the lucky ones, I figured it out—lots didn't." He shrugged tiredly.

"Anyway, there are plenty others like me that _did _figure it out, and that's what you're seeing here. Lots of people that were older kids, teenagers, people in their lower twenties, that banded together and figured out how to last long enough to get someplace safe. _Lots _of kids from those camps grew up way early and started looking out for others. There are adults here, too, I'm not saying they were all wiped out, but you'll probably see soon enough nobody really cares about age anymore. A seventeen year old girl that gets a whole pack of smaller kids to safety is just as much of a veteran as a thirty year old soldier who fought in the early outbreaks, and gets _just _as much respect." Wally grinned, and added almost as an afterthought, "She definitely gets way _more _respect from _me._"

Superboy rolled his eyes at that last part, but then added, "I'm guessing that's why I'm not really seeing any intact family units, either..."

"Lots of people got split up," Wally said dully. "I'm not the only one. Lots of people started forming surrogate families too. Older people that lost kids start looking after younger brats that can't find their parents, stuff like that. There's no real official adoption system right now, I expect it'll be a real nightmare to work out on paper if anything ever gets better. And can you imagine the networks of new not-really cousins and siblings-in-laws and aunts and uncles? Confusing!"

Superboy fell silent at that, looking contemplative underneath his frown, as he watched the bustle of people around him with a wariness that was now slightly edged with curiosity. Wally figured he'd given the clone something to think about, although he couldn't imagine what—the complex community system was just a much larger extension of the brotherly relationship they had right now, so it couldn't be _that _hard to get, right?

He shrugged to himself and continued navigating the improvised streets, and when they started getting closer to and passing the large buildings on the island, he gave Connor quick visual tours as they passed them. "Right, so, that there's the Intensive Treatment center—they used to put the _real _crazy Gotham villains in there back in the day, but obviously they aren't around anymore. Now it's used mostly as an industrial center for manufacturing supplies and weaponry and stuff, but I think there are some dorms in there for the workers and security staff—y'know, the cells." He turned to point behind him. "The penitentiary over there acts more like civilian dorms, it's got more converted cells than IT does. And waaaay back there in Cave West there's the medical facility, which is probably one of the best places for medical treatment in the country right now. Weird, right, since they used to screw things up so bad...but they gave it a major overhaul, it's pretty well-stocked with medications and stuff, and they've even got access to some tools you can't find anymore without risking hordes of dead heads."

They crossed through a small man-made tunnel with metal doors that were currently slid open, with a pair of guards standing at ease on either side, acting more like quiet police presence than immediate defense. Wally waved to them as they went through (one saluted back with his bow cheerfully) and then continued the tour when they reached the other side. "That huge building taking up that whole side, that's the mansion. I guess it used to be offices and stuff before. Now it's mostly the mess hall for community meals, but I think some of the leaders also live there and have their offices there too, so it kinda acts like a town hall as well. And that building there, that's the Botanical Gardens. I don't even know _what _they used it for when this place was still a mad-house but they use it to grow crops and stuff now. And that space next to it, that's for some smaller livestock and things, y'know, pigs, chickens, sheep, couple cows. _Fresh food, _Connor, it's _amazing._"

He paused to let his mouth water at old memories of tacos and grilled chicken and takeout. _God _did he miss real food. You got used to dried rations and wild rabbit but nothing would compare to a Chicken Whizee or a Double Chili Cheeseburger. He could almost _smell _the delightful aromas...and then he realized he really _could _smell them, or at least, he could smell _something _that was almost heavenly. Grinning, Wally realized they'd entered the more-or-less bazaar section of the grounds, where there was a higher concentration of food more than anything else. Perfect timing! "Hey, Connor...I know you're anxious to meet my buddy, but how about we stop for dinner first? I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

Superboy scowled, and glanced around distastefully at the crowds. He was still sticking pretty close to Wally and had clearly not come to adjust to all the people yet. "It'll be impossible to forage or scavenge with all this mess," he said, "and there can't be anything to hunt _here _with everybody scaring off the game."

Wally laughed. "We're in civilization now, Connor! Or what passes for it, these days. We don't have to hunt or scavenge right now." He took a sharp turn and followed his nose, and then his eyes, to the fire pit one of the civilians had set up carefully along one of the makeshift roads. Connor followed him, looking a bit confused at the declaration. Wally found it a bit sad, that the only thing Connor knew, was _able _to know, was survivalist mode.

Well, Wally would give him a taste of something new, for the moment. Literally, even. He approached one of the civilian vendors by the fire pit, and gestured at some of the man's offered goods. They bartered fiercely for a few minutes—a skill Wally was pretty decent at, considering how little time he actually had to spend around people—and shortly after Wally handed over several cigarettes in exchange for two skewers of seasoned beef chunks and fresh vegetables, grilled to near perfection over the fire. He handed one over to Connor, who had watched the exchange with interest, and said cheerfully, "Bon appétit!" before digging ravenously into his own meal.

"This is what we scavenged for?" Superboy asked, blinking down at his dinner.

"Sorta," Wally explained through a mouthful of grilled beef and pepper, "it's all for trade, you can use it however you need to. For food or more supplies or whatever. If we were gonna live here and we found some great stuff we could even use it to buy into a dorm or get a space out here." He ripped off another hunk of seasoned meat and nearly cried for joy; it had been way too long since he'd eaten anything this flavorful. "C'mon, eat up, enjoy!"

Connor eyed the skewer for a moment, but then carefully set into his own meal. His eyes lit up with surprise at the taste, and Wally watched in amusement as he devoured it rapidly and even licked his fingers afterwards. "Good, right?" Wally said with a laugh, as he finished off his own. "Crazy what a few spices can do. Or, y'know, a guy who actually knows how to cook. Far cry from my burnt venison and burnt rabbit and burnt cans of vegetables."

"I'm still not sure how you managed to do that."

"You know what? Shut up, dude. Just shut up."

Superboy smirked, but then added more seriously, "But it was good. Is this...how people ate all the time?"

"More or less. Better even." Connor frowned a little, and Wally said apologetically, "I'm sorry, man. That you had to come back to..._this._"

"Not your fault," Superboy said. But that deep frown was back all the same.

Wally hated seeing the poor guy down, especially when he felt a little guilty about causing it, so in an effort to cheer the clone up he hunted through the market place until he found a suitable vendor. The opportunistic and highly clever woman had managed to create a collection of miniature fried fruit pies, sprinkled with sugar (where on earth had she gotten _sugar?_ Grown, maybe?) which were in high demand and particularly expensive due to their rarity. Wally had to trade an entire pack of cigarettes _and_ the bottle of drinking alcohol just for two little folded pies the size of his palm, which was a scandalously outrageous overpriced _ripoff_ if he'd ever seen one. But it ended up being worth it, when he handed off one of the treats to Superboy, and the clone got his first taste of dessert and actually_ smiled_ with real enjoyment at it.

_There you go, Supey,_ Wally thought to himself, _not all bad, right?_

Superboy's mood seemed to improve even more just as they finished the pies. By then it was starting to get dark, with the sky turning deep reds and yellows, and under normal circumstances by now they'd be in severe danger by virtue of not having found a shelter yet. But Wally didn't rush them off to find a place to hole up before they ran out of light, and it became obvious a few moments later, when several makeshift stadium lights snapped on from above on the watchtowers. Between those and the bonfires lit everywhere by the citizens, the lighting remained decent even as the sky began to get dark.

Superboy looked stunned. "There's electricity here!"

Wally grinned. "Yup. In the buildings, too," he added, pointing to the mansion up ahead, where a few dim and flickering but still obvious windows were lit up. "See, this is one of the reasons New Batcave does so awesome—they've got access to stuff a lot of communities out there don't. The electricity is rationed pretty carefully—it's mostly for the medical facility—but they make sure the grounds are lit up and safe too, and every building has emergency lights. Plus it gives them heat in the winter, 'cause winter in New England can really suck otherwise, and they've worked out a way to get running water too."

Superboy looked a little more impressed than before. "You weren't kidding, when you said this was civilization, were you?"

"Nope! They've really thought things out here," Wally said, still grinning. "Look, you can even see—all the buildings have solar panels and things on them, and they've got backup plans and stuff to keep it running. And they make sure the place is sanitary too, thanks to the running water and plumbing they've still got working, so illness and disease is way low here compared to other places. They're as on top of things here as you can get in the apocalypse."

"New Batcave, huh?"

"Kinda fits, doesn't it?"

"More than I realized. No wonder you thought your friend might be able to help me out here..." Superboy looked thoughtful.

"Oh, _right._" Wally felt like face-palming a little. "There was a reason we were heading this way, wasn't there? Now that we've eaten we can go see him. It's kinda late, but he's always been a night owl anyway, I'm sure he won't mind. C'mon, let's go." And he gave Superboy a quick tug, before leading him for the far south of the island. Connor, with a raised eyebrow and a suspicious look, followed.

Most of New Batcave's open space had long since been claimed by refugees and civilians, and gradually converted into makeshift streets for all manner of workshops and shelters. Towards the south of the island, though, and still a bit of a walk from the mansion, was a small enclosed space that nobody was allowed through without clearance. The reason why was fairly clear: there were two buildings, both looking fairly new compared to the rest of the architecture on the island, walled off with fencing and plastered with signs warning civilians to stay clear in a number of languages. The signs also made note of sensitive electrical equipment that could potentially be dangerous, and that it was a severe violation to progress beyond that point. If the signs weren't deterrent enough, the guards usually were: they were posted all along the fence, and down the dirt path leading to it, constantly alert. They were polite and nonaggressive whenever they were forced turn a wandering civilian away, but also unrelentingly firm about doing so: no trespassers, no exceptions. Each and every one of them was armed with bows and possessed a quiver of arrows over one shoulder, and every single one clearly knew how to use their weapons.

Superboy frowned at the high security and gave Wally another skeptical look. "Your friend lives out here?"

"Would you believe me if I said he was a _very_ private person?" Wally asked hopefully.

"No."

"Alright, well, that's a lie anyway. He really is a people person. He's just gotta be on-hand for the important stuff."

"You're not making any sense. And how are we supposed to get past all those guards, anyway? Fight them?"

"No!" Wally looked horrified. "Hell no. No fighting people. _Bad_ Supey." Superboy scowled at him, as if to say _answer the question already,_ and he flashed a grin, saying, "I've got _connections._"

He did, actually, and it was obvious soon enough. The guards out here were part of a particularly special security rotation, which meant most of them were familiar with Wally and recognized him right away. They waved him on through, some grinning, and if a few gave Superboy suspicious looks, a quick "he's with me" was enough to get the clone past as well.

Wally did, however, run into complications at the fence gate, and the last checkpoint before getting into the smaller complex. He didn't recognize the guard here; she was clearly new, since he hadn't seen her last time he'd visited. She was dressed in army fatigues, had blonde hair that was just getting long enough to tie back, and held her green bow like she knew how to use it and _would_, which was normally a good thing for this particularly security force. Unfortunately she also had a pretty nasty temper and point-blank refused to let Wally through the gate. "No entry."

"What!" Wally gave her an incredulous look. "Look, I don't know what they told you—"

"Nothing except the rules. You're not mentioned in them. Go away or I'll _make_ you, and don't think I won't!"

"What were you saying, about connections?" Superboy growled at Wally, giving him a look.

"Dude! Not helping. Just...shut up a minute." Turning to the girl, he added, "Alright, look, babe—"

"Do not _babe_ me, you son of a—"

"Okay, geez, calm down! Look, _whoever_ you are, I know your manager _personally,_ so if you could just let me through—"

"Yeah, like I've never heard _that_ before." She put her free hand on her hip and glared at him. Wally got the distinct impression that he was now on her hit list, and also that she was trying way, _way_ too hard to do her job right. Definitely a newbie. "I don't even know how you got down here. What were those other idiots thinking? Listen up, turn around and walk away now, and I won't have you reported to island security for trespassing and thrown on the ban-list."

_"What!"_ Wally repeated, angrier this time. He was starting to get ticked now. "That's a _ridiculous_ punishment just for walking up a path!" Superboy made that barely-audible growl next to him, and Wally slid between him and the bow girl hastily before he did anything stupid, trying to force his own anger down. _"Look,"_ he grated, "There's _obviously_ a misunderstanding here, so just call your superior and _I_ won't report _you_ for being an obstinate—"

"Do not even _think_ of finishing that sentence!" the girl snapped at him, glaring furiously. "If you don't like the rules, you can turn around and—"

_"Artemis!"_

The girl jumped with a start, looking alarmed, and glanced over her shoulder into the compound. Wally jumped too, but a moment later a smug smile grew on his face as he spotted the person approaching, and he crossed his arms. There was a young man, approximately nineteen or twenty, stepping out of the gate. He was dressed practically in a hunting uniform and boots, complete with jacket even if the heat was still sweltering, and there was a deep red bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. What little skin was visible was tanned, but his most notable features were his reddish hair and blue eyes, which were currently narrowed at the girl.

"Enough," he snapped. "West is good. Remember that! And let him pass."

Wally's smug grin grew wider at the girl—Artemis—and her incredulous look as it began to dawn on her that he really _hadn't_ been lying. "Thanks, Roy," he drawled, with deliberate casualness. "I really didn't want to be out here all night."

Roy merely snorted in response.

Artemis looked displeased, but also determined to do her job right in front of her superior, because she asked sharply, "What about his _friend_ here?" She glared at Superboy next, who scowled and stared back stonily. Wally could all but see him tensing under the scrutiny.

_Please don't do anything stupid for just a few seconds,_ Wally pleaded internally. Out loud, he said, "_Connor,_ here, is also fine."

Artemis gave him an I-don't-believe-you-for-a-second look and glanced over at Roy, as if waiting for orders. Roy ignored her, and turned his attention to Superboy, studying him intently. Wally felt like sweating bullets—Roy was, and had always been for as long as Wally had known him, security-paranoid, and he was _smart._ It made him a formidable opponent and a great head of security, but it also meant he might not take kindly to Superboy—especially if he recognized some of Superboy's most notable, and _familiar,_ features. And if anybody would recognize them at all, it'd be Roy.

Roy didn't say anything at all now as he studied Superboy, and Connor grew, if possible, even more tense under the scrutiny, glaring back defiantly and nearly baring his teeth in a grimace. He did not like being sized up like this, and he did not like the implications that he couldn't be trusted; that much was obvious. It was clearly taking him everything he had to remain quiet and not react violently, and even then that was probably in a large part because Wally was still strategically situated between the clone and Roy.

But after a very, very _long_ and tense moment, Roy said, "Are you sure you trust him?"

Superboy actually growled at this, and the way he shifted suggested he _dearly_ wanted to start something now. Wally intervened as fast as he could, but even so when he spoke it was full of absolute confidence and not a shred of hesitation. "I trust him with my back."

Roy shifted his gaze away from Superboy for the first time, glancing down at Wally. He understood what Wally had really said: _I literally trust him with my life, and have done so in the past. I am willing to turn my back on this person and know without a doubt that he won't stab me while I'm vulnerable and run off. And he trusts me to do the same._ Superboy seemed to get it as well, because he quieted and relaxed just slightly, and at the very least looked like he wasn't about to jump at the head of security anymore.

Roy stared at him a moment longer, but Wally was equal to that, and stared right back. He wasn't lying and he needed Roy to understand that. It would be easier when they were inside for more private conversation, but for now he_ had_ to know that Superboy was okay. It worked; after a moment Roy finally nodded and said flatly, "He's fine too. Come in."

Wally grinned and elbowed (carefully this time) his companion once more. "See? What'd I tell ya? _Connections._"

"Sure." Superboy shook his head in exasperation, but followed after Roy into the compound. He walked a little stiffly, like he was still tense, but at least he didn't look like he was going to start anything anymore. Wally followed after him, pausing_ just_ long enough to give Artemis a satisfied smirk, and stick his tongue out at her in victory. She made a furious, spluttering sound and glared at him, but then the gate closed, and they were in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Age of Heroes**

Part seven of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"This is either madness...or brilliance."  
"It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide."  
~_Pirates of the Caribbean_

* * *

The inside of the compound was fairly barren, for the most part; like everywhere else on the island it was flat ground with no trees. The only people visible were still more bow-armed guards, who carefully patrolled the perimeter and stood at attention at the doors to the buildings. There were two structures—one large enough to count as a small warehouse, and the other smaller and more compact, looking a bit like a tiny ramshackle cottage.

Roy led them to the smaller building, ignoring the way the guard at attention outside the door saluted him, and waved Wally and Connor through. The inside was relatively spartan, with a single room that was a combination bedroom, living room, and workshop with a few furniture fixtures, a few dim electric lights, and little else. There was an honest-to-goodness solid wooden _door_ at the back of the room, something of a luxury and currently closed and locked, that led farther into the interior.

"I'm guessing you came to see Dick?" Roy asked, watching them through the door. Wally nodded, and Roy added, "He was just finishing up with the generator for the night. I'll go get him; I only left him anyway to see what the commotion at the gate was about." He gave Wally a flat look and added, "Do me a favor and _don't_ antagonize my guards next time, West."

"Hey, she started it!"

"I don't care." Before Wally could argue further Roy had already turned and left, heading towards the warehouse.

Wally snorted, but at Superboy's raised eyebrow he merely shrugged. "Roy's an old friend too," he explained, "but he gets kinda...um..._serious_ about his job. He's nice enough when you get to know him, he's just very, uh, devoted to the cause, I guess?"

"I noticed," Connor said, with the faintest trace of a growl. Apparently he was still smarting from Roy's distrustful questions. "What _is_ the cause anyway?"

Wally tossed his pack into one corner of the room and flopped down on a threadbare, lumpy couch that had seen better days but was still one of the most comfortable things he'd ever rested on in his life. "Oh, Roy's head of security for the whole island. He's the one that handpicks and trains all the guards for active duty here, that's why so many of them know how to use bows. He's also Dick's bodyguard, more or less."

"Bodyguard?" Superboy asked. He placed his pack next to Wally's and gingerly sat down on the other end of the couch, as though afraid it might take his weight. It held, although Superboy still sat kind of rigidly, but he always did that and Wally had long since gotten used to it. "Why does this guy need a bodyguard? I thought the island was secure?"

Wally snorted. "It is, but you'll see why when you meet him. Dick has a knack for getting himself into trouble even when he's not trying. It's sort of an occupational hazard, I guess. Having Roy hanging around all the time helps deter some _extra_ hazards."

Superboy looked a bit skeptical and seemed about to speak, but the door snapped open a second later, and a voice said, "Somebody talking about me in here? That's not polite, you know." And the speaker breezed into the room, smirking, with Roy on his heels. He was fourteen by now, but a lot of hard work and not quite enough to eat made him look a lot younger and skinnier than he should have. He was dressed casually in a worn-looking sweatshirt and cargo pants, the pockets of which were stuffed with a number of work tools, which he calmly began emptying onto the table in the corner a moment later. His hands were calloused, his dark hair unkempt, and there were dark lines under his eyes, but even so the blue irises still sparkled with just a hint of confidence and amusement. This was one person who had clearly taken the challenge of the apocalypse head-on and challenged it right back; no matter how many problems it threw at him he kept getting up to fight it again.

Wally grinned at the sight of his best friend. "Dick! Still scrawny as ever."

"Wally!" Dick's eyes lit up as he caught sight of the visitor on his couch. He finished dumping the tools as Wally hauled himself to his feet. Then he darted across the small room, where the two exchanged an enthusiastic bro-fist before Dick killed the whole 'manly meeting' thing by dragging Wally into a quick hug. "Man, is it good to see you! What's it been, six months?"

"Yeah, I had to winter down in Florida," Wally explained, as he flopped down on the couch again, chuckling a little at Superboy's baffled look as he glanced back and forth between them. "Figured I'd gotten a lead, but it didn't pan out...that entire settlement got hit hard by the zeds ages ago, there's nothing left."

Dick winced as he flopped down on the edge of his cot, apparently ignoring the way Roy settled standing against the wall right next to him. "Ouch. Sorry, man. It wasn't on the network or I'd have warned you off ahead of time."

"S'okay, dude. Wasn't your fault, you did what you could." Wally shrugged tiredly for a moment, before remembering his friend, who still looked deeply confused by the encounter. "Dick, this is Connor. I found him in D.C. going it solo. Figured I'd bring him up here and show him civilization. He also has a..._problem_...I think you might be able to help him with."

Dick raised an eyebrow at that, but knew better than to question for the moment. There were still guards about, and Wally didn't want this getting too far; better to wait until the area was secure. Instead he glanced at Superboy and said, "Hey, nice to meet you, Connor. Welcome to my town. Hope you've been enjoying it so far?"

"It's been...different." Superboy blinked, and then his eyes widened with surprise as he started putting everything together. "Wait..._your_ town?" He gave Wally a cold look, and said, "When you've been mentioning 'your friend' and 'knowing the guy in charge,' you meant _him?_"

Wally laughed. "Not what you were expecting?"

"But he's a _kid!_" Connor said incredulously, gesturing at Dick.

"I resent that," Dick said with a scowl. "I'm fourteen; that makes me a teenager, not a kid. And I'm more capable than pretty much anybody else you'll find on this island." Roy snorted, and Dick rolled his eyes, adding, "Okay, okay, you know what you're doing too, Roy, no need to get bent out of shape about it."

Superboy still looked rather surprised by the revelation, asked, "But...even if you _are_ totally capable, do all these people seriously take orders from a fourteen year old?"

"Technically, they don't," Roy supplied quietly. "There's a small council of adults that manage day to day affairs and handle different aspects of managing supplies and civilians. Officially speaking, they rule the island. But Dick here is the one who designed most of the defense and survival protocols, came up with the rules and regulations...he was even the one to suggest turning Arkham into a stronghold in the first place. He's also the one that _keeps_ coming up with new countermeasures and ways to modify the island so it gets even safer and more controlled. Most of those councilmen will ask for advice or defer to him. _Officially_ he's not in charge, but everybody knows who makes the real calls around here." Roy concluded by giving Dick a rather frigid look.

The youngest teenager did not appear phased by the glare in the least. He merely shrugged, saying with a smirk, "What? I can't help it if I'm a born leader. I'm just _that_ good at what I do."

"I wish you'd be _less_ good at it," Roy snapped in irritation.

Wally raised an eyebrow. "What's with him?"

Dick waved a hand absently in the air, as though shooing the question away. "Not much. Another assassination attempt last week, Roy's still a little on edge. S'why there's so much extra security too."

"Again?" Wally frowned, not entirely happy with Dick's indifferent response to yet another attempt on his life. "One of these days they're really going to get you, man. You've got to be careful."

"They won't if I have anything to say about it," Roy growled. He sounded determined.

Superboy's anger towards Roy seemed to diminish; it seemed he was starting to understand why the head of security had been so harsh. Frowning a little, Connor asked, "Is that why you live way out here? To try and prevent attempts by staying away from the crowds?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Well, partly. Roy flat-out refused to let me take a makeshift apartment in the mansion with the rest of the councilmen, says it's a security nightmare. But I also stay out here for another reason—the generator."

"In the building next door," Superboy said, eyes lighting up with sudden realization.

Dick grinned. "Yup! One of my early contributions to Arkham Refuge, here." Wally noted, vaguely, that Dick still refused to use the nickname everybody else had given the island. "I've always been pretty good with technology, so I figured out how to rig together a generator to keep the island supplied with regular power. But we had to set up out here for a reason—the buildings are just too crowded with refugees to make any of the old power supplies safe to operate out of, and it'd be really tough to keep control over it too. We have to ration everything, can't have people siphoning power for luxuries right now. So it's here, away from the crowd, where it can be protected. I live on-hand to manage and improve it, and...other things too."

"And people want to kill you because you give them functioning lights, medical facilities, and sanitation?" Superboy asked doubtfully, looking back and forth between Dick and Wally in confusion.

"Think about it," Wally told him. "We've been finding loads of beneficial goods to use as trade, right? Even a few batteries or cigarettes will go for a lot; it's post-apocalyptic wealth. Now imagine controlling the only source of power for _miles_ around; it's like having the entire island in your back pocket. Mix that with having most of the council deferring to you, and you've basically got it made. My buddy here is essentially the wealthiest, most influential person on the island right now. Maybe even in all of New England."

_And honestly, that's kind of underselling it,_ Wally thought to himself. Dick was, quite frankly, the biggest—maybe the only—_success_ story post Z-day, and everybody had their eyes on him. It wasn't just because of the technological innovations, although that had a great deal to do with it; the generators weren't his only improvements, and Dick had gone to great lengths to create solar panels, improve upon manufacturing or reworking tech for supplies and weaponry, and even re-establish communications to a degree.

It was more than that. Dick had been responsible for organizing the retreat to Arkham and turning it into a veritable fortress, effectively saving hundreds of lives by establishing protocols and continually reworking the system for the island's benefit. He was charismatic, clearly caring about the people in his little domain and able to give them hope, something most of the refugees and civilians adored about him. It was not uncommon for him to help out with more menial labor-intensive projects personally (despite all Roy's protests) and he always went the extra mile to ensure everybody had proper health care or food when they needed it, frequently refusing special treatment for himself to do so. And the night he spent in Scarecrow's old cell, just to counteract superstitious talk of hauntings and loss of sanity back when Arkham had first become a refuge and the terrified citizens were afraid to accept it as a shelter, was _legend._

Basically, due to his technological accomplishments and innovations, skilled decision-making abilities, likable personality, relative wealth, and what amounted to post-apocalyptic philanthropy, Dick was heralded as a new-age Golden Boy sitting on a new-age empire and rebuilding it all from the ground up. He was frequently and repeatedly compared to Bruce Wayne, and people often commented on how he walked in his surrogate father's footsteps and how he was considered to be a worthy successor. Dick took the intended compliments in stride publicly, and only his close friends could tell just how much each and every word was like a knife in the heart to him, when he was constantly compared to and reminded of his absent guardian.

Wally _was_ one of those close friends, though, which was why he respected his friend enough to not cut open old wounds in front of him. He could explain the full nature of Dick's power on the island to Superboy later; for now, he kept it brief. "It might be the apocalypse," Wally concluded, "but people are still people. Some of them see massive amounts of wealth in the form of both literal _and_ figurative power and they want a piece of it."

"Amongst other reasons," Dick added, almost conversationally. "Some people just don't like that I'm hogging all the power and want to teach me a lesson; they don't understand it has to be rationed. Some people just don't like me being in charge because they don't like my decisions, or they just don't like a fourteen year old effectively calling the shots. And we've even got a small faction of doomsday fans who think the world is _supposed_ to end and they're ticked off that I'm doing everything I can to stop it." He rolled his eyes at the last one. "It might be the apocalypse, but Gotham still seems determined to pull some of the_ weirdest_ problems out of seemingly _nowhere_."

"Least you don't have to deal with the old residents," Wally offered brightly.

"Thank God for _that_," Dick said with a sigh. "It's not like I'd have time to deal with any of them _again_ on top of all this."

"Again?" Superboy asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Dick waved a hand again almost casually. "I'm from Gotham. Most people here are, you'll get the same reaction from any of them. Probably the same reason it's mostly pretty controlled here...we've _always_ been survivors. After dealing with crazy crowns, frozen fanatics and a menagerie of mutants, what's a few walking dead?"

"Is he always this..._nonchalant_ about the apocalypse?" Connor asked, giving Wally a bewildered look.

"Better than being chalant," Dick said with a grin. "Stressing out gets you nowhere, you've got to keep your head in the game."

"_Chalant?_" Superboy sounded incredulous now.

Wally rolled his eyes. "Ignore him, he does that," he said with a sigh. "He likes to mutilate the English language, it's a bad habit of his."

Dick's smile turned positively wicked. "Yup, that'd be my personality tic," he said. "Eventually I'll turn it into a full-blown language-slaughtering obsession and then I'll probably resort to lots of word-game related crimes just to blow off steam. I'm thinking of calling myself _The Linguist._"

Wally's smile turned pained. "C'mon, man, you _know_ where we are, don't even _joke_ about that kind of thing."

"Why not? It's practically tradition and we're overdue."

"Dick. _Seriously._"

"Alright, alright, _fine,_" Dick said, shaking his head a little in amusement. "You guys are too easy, you know."

"I think your friend is crazy," Superboy informed Wally dutifully.

"At least I'm in the right place."

"_Dick._" This time it was Roy, who gave his apparent charge a cold look.

"Oh come on, it's like shooting fish in a barrel—" Roy's look intensified, and Dick sighed, "Okay, okay, I'm done for real this time, I promise!"

Wally shook his head a little in exasperation. It wasn't uncommon for people to develop a much more morbid sense of humor (if anything was left at all) these days, but Dick took it and ran with it in a way that was partly trolling turned into an art form and partly genuinely scary. Sometimes Wally really _did_ wonder if the stress of running the place was going to his head, while other times he seemed perfectly normal. Well, at least he had Roy around all the time to knock some sense into him; Dick listened to Roy, at least.

He cast about for a change of topic. "So, you've got _Atlanteans_ in your work for now, huh?"

Dick smirked. "You could say I've opened up negotiations with one of their factions..."

"Dude, by the time you're _twenty_ you're gonna be president of the United States, if you keep this up!"

Superboy frowned. "That's illegal under the grounds of the Constitution..."

"Trust me," Wally said, jerking a thumb at the still-grinning Dick, "If anybody could manage to re-write the Constitution it'd be _this_ guy."

Dick laughed, but added, "The Atlantean alliance isn't set in stone yet, and the faction I'm in contact with is still pretty small. But we're hoping an alliance between our stronghold and their group can provide an example of good relations and maybe foster some additional interest in future relations as well. Even if it doesn't pan out, having Atlanteans manning my harbor defenses is a godsend—they can handle the work way better with a lot less people, meaning I've got more bodies to put to work elsewhere on other things."

"Least things are working out here," Wally noted. "It's not doing so good elsewhere."

"You'll have to give me the details later," Dick told him firmly. "Anything I can pick your brain for to add to the databases. The clearer a picture I have on the state of things in the country, the better I can act on things." He grew more serious. "For now though...you needed my help with something?"

"Yeah, but it's gonna take a serious discussion to get through it all," Wally explained, giving his friend a pointed look.

Dick got the message, fortunately: _you need to be sure the place is secure before we can talk about _this_ particular brand of help._ "Hey, Roy, can you look into that?" he asked. "I'd like to get this taken care of tonight, if I can."

"And maybe find some snacks while you're at it?" Wally asked hopefully. "You've always got something special hidden around here, don't you?"

Roy scowled. "I've got better things to do with my time," he snapped. "I am a _bodyguard,_ not a _butler._"

Dick flinched. It wasn't obvious, just the tiniest reaction to the words, and for a moment his eyes seemed to go dull. Wally winced in sympathy, and a moment later Roy seemed to realize what he'd said, and grimaced. "Aw, damn...Sorry, Dick, I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's fine. I know you didn't." Dick's voice was mostly neutral, but there was a sliver of pain in the words. Roy, still grimacing, put an apologetic hand on his charge's shoulder. Connor glanced back and forth between them in confusion, and gave Wally a sidelong glance. Wally shook his head just slightly and muttered, too low to hear, "Later."

"I'll take care of things," Roy added carefully after a moment. "Wait until I get back to start." And after a quick glance at the other two, he headed out of the small cabin. Wally could hear him talking to the guard posted at the outside door, although the words weren't easy to make out.

Dick seemed to have forced himself to recover remarkably fast, but said with just a little too much enthusiasm, "Right, so, in the meantime, anything else I can take care of?"

"Oh...uh..well, I've got something for you, for starters," Wally said, scrounging again for a topic. He recovered his bag from the corner and dug around until he found the abandoned iPhone he'd discovered in the sub-levels of Cadmus. This he handed over to Dick, saying, "No battery power, but it looked pretty up to date otherwise, I figured you might be able to get _something_ out of it."

"Are you kidding, this is _great_," Dick said enthusiastically. "These came out right before the major outbreaks, the technology in it will be some of the most advanced stuff I can find short of breaking into a military base somewhere." He accepted the phone and flipped it over carefully, examining every inch of its surface. Wally could tell just from the way his fingers twitched he itched to take it apart and start sorting through it for useful bits and pieces.

Superboy seemed confused. "I thought were were supposed to leave all the technology and stuff behind, when scavenging?"

"Mostly, yeah," Wally agreed. "Things like desktop computers and stereos are just too cumbersome to carry anywhere—even if you're strong enough, there's just no feasible way to lug it around without breaking it while running from zeds. But Dick here has a bounty out on pretty much any portable tech you can find—phones, palmtops, laptops, that sort of thing. So if I see'em laying around and it's small enough to carry, I usually grab it for him."

"I use it to supplement my makeshift technology here," Dick added. He leapt up from the cot and headed back over to his piles of tools, starting to sort through them for ones small enough to disassemble the phone in his hands as he finished answering Superboy's question. "Computers were always my thing back before Z-day. I've been building new systems with the parts people bring me—that's why I've got a bounty out on them. It's a slow process and a bit of a crapshoot, because you never know what you're going to get or if the parts are even any good. But it's been coming along, slowly but surely."

"What good are computers now?" Superboy asked flatly. "I don't see how they would have helped us out at all when we were outside your walls."

"They're still useful—if you know what you're doing," Dick told him confidently. "Fortunately, I do. And I use them for a _lot_ of things here. Mostly I use them for communications. That Atlantean alliance? Happened because I was able to get in touch with them. No computers, no alliance, no safer harbors." He started picking at the phone with a tiny screwdriver, adding, "I'm hoping to try and get in touch with somebody off-world, too, if I can. Maybe Mars. Martian Manhunter was friendly enough, maybe we could get some help if we could just connect. Or the Green Lantern Corps, maybe. Or maybe not. I don't know, that's a long way in the future—gotta figure out how to boost the signal enough first."

Connor raised an eyebrow at that, but when he spoke he actually sounded impressed. "Oh. Well. What else can you do with them?"

Dick shrugged, and then smirked as he successfully managed to slip the back case of the phone off. He laid both parts out carefully on the table and pulled up a seat, neatly inspecting the phone insides as he talked. "Lots of stuff. I use one system for the more mundane things here, keeping track of supplies and people and stuff. Data crunching, spreadsheets, search boards, that sort of thing. The other one's a little more high-end, I use it to, uh..._keep an eye on_ the military operations on the other side of the country."

Wally smirked, and said in a conspiratorial (but obvious) whisper to Superboy, "He means he hacks into their stuff."

Superboy looked even more impressed. "You can do that?"

"If you know what you're doing."

"Which you _do_," Connor pointed out, with a raised eyebrow.

_"Maybe,"_ Dick drawled, but the way he winked was a very obvious _of course I can_. "It took me a while to build a system strong enough for me to manage it, but their stuff isn't all that high-end anymore either, they've been suffering too. Mostly I just use it to keep track of things on the Western half of the country...zed movements, resistance movements, person of interest sightings, survivor news...that sort of thing." He shrugged. "Oh, and satellites, too. A little easier to hack into now, although the military satellites are beyond pretty much anything _anybody_ can break into at this point. Mostly I just hack the weather and communications ones. That way we're prepared for any major storms or abnormalities that come our way, and on good days if we get lucky we can get in touch with other major settlements for a short while."

"Other colonies have electronics and communications too?"

"Not all of them," Dick said. "None of them are as good as mine, either. But sometimes we get lucky."

"Speaking of lucky..." Wally hesitated. He'd been itching to ask this question since he first met up with Dick again, but between the introductions and the explanations there just hadn't been a chance. Now was as good a time as any, and he asked almost tentatively, "Have you...have you heard anything at all...?"

Dick fell still at the table, and after a moment slowly set down the phone casing and his tools. He looked like he didn't quite want to meet Wally's eyes, but after a moment he sighed and glanced at his friend, shaking his head quickly. "No. I'm sorry, Walls. I've been keeping an eye out on entry reports and traffic through this island, but nobody matching your family's descriptions have come through Arkham Refuge at all."

Wally felt his heart sink a little, but there was still _some_ hope, and he asked with undisguised desperation, "What about outside? Any news from any of the other camps you've kept in contact with or...or_ anything?_"

Dick looked deeply, genuinely sorry as he answered, "No...I'm sorry, Wally. I've checked reports and asked around when I can, but I've got nothing from any of my open lines of communication, either."

Wally huddled a little lower on the old couch, and asked in a small voice, "And...my uncle?"

Dick hesitated, eyes flicking to Superboy for a fraction of a second, before saying carefully, "No sightings there either, Wally. And you know I've been putting out all the stops for them. I'm sorry, man..."

Wally felt miserable. His shoulders slumped, his entire body seemed to droop, and his heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Superboy looked concerned, and almost tentatively reached out to put a hand on Wally's shoulder. He was frowning just slightly, like he wasn't even sure if he was doing the right thing or not.

Dick was a little more responsive, bounding across the room to put an arm around his friend's shoulders reassuringly. "Hey, Wally, it's not a total debacle, okay? No news can also be good news. He's still not on my confirmed list, you know that, I would have told you otherwise. And your family's tough, they could still be out there. Stay whelmed, alright?"

"I know that. I just..." Wally took a deep breath, trying to control the whirling mass of emotions and thoughts in his head, and rasped softly, "I just...I hoped, that maybe there'd be _something._ It's been four years, Dick. Four _years._ What are the odds that...that after all that time, they could..."

"_You're_ still alive," Connor pointed out.

Wally blinked in surprise and glanced over at his traveling companion. Connor still looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with emotional turmoil or even comfort anybody, but he was obviously trying and he looked sincere enough.

Dick seized on the words, and he _was_ much better at dealing with people; he smiled, which Wally knew had to probably be fake but it looked very _real_, and felt infectious. "Connor's right! I mean, you were what, twelve, and you figured out how to survive the crisis? If you can do it, they can do it. You just have to hang in there."

"Cardinal rule of zombie apocalypse survival," Superboy added, repeating verbatim one of the first lessons Wally had ever given him, back at Cadmus. There was a hesitant, tiny smirk on the clone's face as he said it, and between the two of them Wally couldn't help but offer a weak, watery smile of his own.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, right, Hanging in there still." The weak smile slipped away, and Wally admitted, "I just...I'd been hoping, that at least I'd have _something _to work with, some sort of sighting or...I don't know." He sighed, rubbed his forehead with the heel of one hand in frustration. "I'm back at square one again. I don't even know _where _to look anymore."

Dick seemed to hesitate for a moment, and slowly pulled away. Wally glanced up, a little surprised—Dick was rarely if ever one for shows of cold emotion—and could all but _see _the gears turning in his friend's head. "You know something," he realized, eyes widening.

Dick grimaced. "Not exactly—"

"Dick, if you have any hints at all, _anything, _you have to tell me. You _have _to." Wally stared at him, one part pleading and one part accusatory, and added, "You _know _what it's like. If you know _something..._"

Dick winced again, but after a moment dragged over one of the chairs from his work table so that he could sit directly across from Wally. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled in front of his face, expression solemn. Wally couldn't decide if it looked silly, like a kid trying to imitate a parent, or if it just indicated how old Dick was inside after all of _this. _"Look, Wally," Dick said, after taking a few moments to collect his thoughts, "I don't want to give you false hope or anything, which is why I was so hesitant to share this..."

"You _do _know something!" Wally already felt his spirits lifting. False hope or real, it was still worth it.

"_Maybe,_" Dick said. This time it wasn't a joke; he looked very serious, and stressed the uncertainty of it. "It's all speculation and rumor, Wally. I haven't been able to confirm anything yet, and looking into it further could be very, _very _dangerous. You _need _to take this seriously or I'm not going to tell you anything."

"I've never taken anything more seriously in my life," Wally told him, voice flat. "You know that. Whatever you know, I'll be careful. I promise. But you can't keep this from me, you _can't._"

"I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Connor added, to Wally's surprise. The clone had retreated back to his corner of the couch, removing his hand from Wally's shoulder, but he sounded absolutely serious when he said it and met Dick's gaze without backing down. Wally might have laughed, if the situation hadn't been so serious; he was the one that usually kept _Connor _from doing stupid things, not the other way around.

But Dick seemed to accept both of their reassurances that they would be careful, because after a moment he nodded. "Okay," he said slowly, "I've been keeping an eye on recorded scouting and traveler reports recently, trying to get a better lay of the land." Superboy looked a little puzzled, and Dick added mostly for his benefit, "There are lots of other colonies out there that do the same thing I do here—get news from travelers and passerby to figure out how things look outside them. Wally here usually gives me a report on everything he's seen in between trips, for example—where settlements are, or if they don't exist anymore, where possible supply caches are, where there's a pretty heavy zed population...that sort of thing."

Superboy nodded his understanding, so Dick continued. "Recently I picked up a report from a traveler who was passing through the mountains, trying to head west. He was stopped at one of the military bases across the country and they picked his brain, which is the only reason I've even got this intel, and it's questionable at best—their scouts found him half starved, ranting and raving about the dead heads and slipping in and out of delirium. The things in his report might not even be _real_, they could just be in his head."

"What'd he find?" Wally asked, barely daring to breathe or risk missing the answer.

"He _thinks,_" Dick stressed the word heavily, "that there _might _be living people in the Saint Francois Mountain range. Possibly around the Taum Sauk peak, but it's hard to say. He reports having seen smoke once, and signs of human life without telltale zed drag marks or destroyed animal carcasses. He also stressed that he decided to steer clear of the area, just in case."

Wally nodded grimly. As a practiced solo traveler, unless he had a reason to inspect the settlement, he would have done the same thing: approached cautiously, or avoided it altogether. Just because there were no zeds did not mean the people were safe. There were roving bands of thieves and brigands these days that largely survived by killing and stealing from their fellow humans. It was not unheard of for smaller settlements with relatively low numbers of people to simply be overtaken, and the thieves to move right on in. It was also not unheard of for wayward travelers to approach these dangerous settlements and never leave them again.

It sounded dangerous...but it was also a _lead. _He hadn't had a lead in months, not since he checked out that settlement in Florida, only to discover it had been completely eradicated. He'd even checked the bodies that remained there, terrified every time he turned over a truly dead corpse, but he'd recognized no one, and had obtained no answers ever since.

Superboy frowned at the news. "How is it possible that nobody would even know these people are here?"

"Easier than you might think," Dick said with a shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time a smaller group-settlement is found in the middle of nowhere. In this case, it doesn't seem like there's any form of communications in this settlement, if there _is _one. I did a little poking around, but I'm not picking up any hot spots in the area, near as I an tell. We're talking a _lot _of square miles and elevation, and Missouri is the 'cave state' for a reason; there's hundreds of places in the mountain range where people could hide. The mountains have running water and feasible game for hunting, and with a little ingenuity they could get gardens growing as well. A close-knit community could be fully self-sustaining and remain isolated from any other forms of society for years, if they had to."

"That range is barely three hundred miles from Central City!" Wally said excitedly. Things were sounding more possible by the minute. "They could have gotten there, in the outbreak—dad used to go camping all the time, he'd know about it, I'm sure—this is perfect! They've got to be there, they _have _to be—"

"Wally!"

Wally froze in the middle of his rambling to glance up at his friend. Dick was staring at him with a very serious expression on his face, and said sternly, but not unkindly, "You need to deal with this realistically, Walls. I hope they're there, I really do, but don't take stupid risks. There's a _really _high probability that they _aren't _there and this _is _a dangerous zone."

"I know. I _know, _okay? But I still have to look. I have to _try. _I can't just _not._" Wally clenched his fists on his knees, determined now that he finally had a goal again.

"I know that," Dick told him, very patiently, "But that's not going to stop me from worrying, got it? I'm getting sick of watching people I know die, Wally, I just want to look out for you." His expression flickered for just a moment, looking bitter and sad and _far _too old for his face, but when he spoke again it was more serious.

"Just keep the important things in mind, okay? Even if this camp is there and it _is _the right one, searching the mountains won't be easy—that's a lot of space to cover, and it's a long trip to get there. Don't get yourself stuck out there in mid-winter. And that's not even taking into account the journey there—you _know _central U.S. is still crawling with the highest concentration of dead heads. Take things slow, think things out, and _don't_ die."

Wally offered him a weak smile again. "You don't have to tell me to be careful, Dick."

"I know I don't. I am anyway." Dick gave him a firm look. "You still going to go?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Wally snorted. "I'll need to spend tomorrow resupplying, but I need to get out of here as fast as I can. Still need to beat the weather. If I'm lucky I can make it to the colony closest to the mountains before winter—"

"Uh-uh." Dick shook his head firmly at the both of them. "You're not going _anywhere _for a week. According to my satellite hacks we've got a number of big thunderstorms heading our way. You're holing up here until they've passed and I give you the okay."

"Oh, come _on, _Dick—"

"Don't _come on _me. Getting stuck out in a storm like that is a potential death sentence. You know that," Dick told him, with an accusing edge to his voice. "You've got shelter, so you're staying here until I say otherwise. And don't forget—you can't get out of here without _my _permission. Roy's security protocols are a lot better than the ones they _used _to use here—you try to leave, I'll know it."

Superboy raised an eyebrow at that. Until now he'd been silent, watching the back and forth between the two. But when Wally spluttered indignantly at Dick's outright order, the clone said challengingly, "Oh yeah? And what are you going to do when you know, huh? Watch him walk away?"

Dick's expression changed, becoming a wickedly mischievous smile, but there was just a touch of a hard edge to his eyes—enough to know he wasn't playing around. "I've still got a detention center here, you know. It did act as a major prison for a while. Most of the cells have been converted to dorms by now, but I've still got ways to make sure you don't wander out and kill yourself."

"You wouldn't—"

"I would, and you know it," Dick said. "Not gonna let you risk your life, sorry, Walls. Or, you can agree to behave yourself and stay here with me for the week, instead. I'll make sure you get as fully resupplied as possible and send you on your way when I say it's safe."

There was a tense moment of silence, but then Wally laughed softly, and the weak smile returned to his face. "I'm always rushing ahead, aren't I?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. You can see why I get worried," Dick said, but he, too, was smirking a little. Superboy looked back and forth between them, not getting the joke and looking rather confused again. "So. You gonna stay?"

"Sure. We could use the break, I guess. Been going non-stop for a while," Wally said, settling back into the couch again. He felt...relieved. Even if he was being forced to wait a week, he had a new objective, a new course to act upon. There was hope again. And that put him more at ease than he'd felt in a long time.

* * *

Lots of you have been wondering about Dick/Robin. Well, there he is! And he don't do things by half, no sir.


	8. Chapter 8

**Age of Heroes**

Part eight of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"How much of me is inherited, and how much is my own creation? Questions that were once just idle musings have begun to feel strangely urgent. Am I firmly rooted to what came before? Or can I choose to deviate?"  
~_Warm Bodies, _Issac Marion

* * *

Dick looked about to inquire further into their travels, but the door cracked open again, and Roy stepped back through. There was a basket in his hands that he dumped unceremoniously in Wally's lap, before striding back over to the wall closest to Dick, once again leaning back against it watchfully. "I picked up dinner rations," he explained flatly, as Wally, stunned, began pawing through the basket. "Most of it is for _Dick,_" he added warningly.

"S'fine, I don't mind sharing," the youngest teen said brightly. "Not feeling all that hungry right now, anyway. Too much on my mind."

Roy did not look happy to hear that, but didn't comment on it for the moment. Instead, he said quietly, "I changed the guard shifts around tonight. I'm on duty here, in the complex itself. The closest guards are down by the gate. They are all trustworthy and are under orders to not approach unless there's an absolute emergency. We're secure."

"Great! Then we can get down to real bus—is this _milk?_ I haven't had milk in _ages,_" Wally interrupted himself, pulling the bottle free from the basket. Cows were hard to come by out in the wilderness after all. "And cheese? And fresh bread? Geez, Rob, you eat like a king!"

Dick's eyes widened in alarm and he glanced over at Superboy, who appeared confused at the sudden new nickname. Roy's scowl deepened and he hissed, _"Wally!"_

"No, it's okay guys, Supey's cool," Wally said, as he calmly tore off some of the bread for himself, and handed another big chunk to his still confused-looking traveling companion. "Part of the club."

Both Dick and Roy looked an interesting mix of skeptical and wary as they eyed Connor with new interest, and Dick mouthed slowly, _Supey?_ Wally grinned at him, swallowed a bite of his bread, and then said, "Guess we should do some re-introductions...guys, allow me to introduce the one and only _Superboy_." And he gestured with a dramatic, over-the-top flourish at Connor, who gave Wally a part surprised, part exasperated look.

For a moment, neither Dick nor Roy said anything at all. They just stared at Connor, Roy with the same studying look as before, and Dick with his head cocked slightly to the side, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. Just as before, Superboy tensed under the scrutiny, although he seemed a little less uncomfortable than last time, probably because he was now familiar with the people observing him.

But after a minute Dick finally broke the silence. "I thought you looked a little familiar," he told Connor slowly, "but I get that feeling a lot these days, with all the traffic through here...I figured you just had one of those faces. But you're..."

"The details aren't right," Roy said flatly. "Similar, but not the same. You're not _him_."

Superboy ground his teeth so hard even _Wally_ could hear it, and said slowly, "No, I'm not. I'm his clone." And a bit coldly, to Wally, "Why are we telling them this?"

Both Dick's and Roy's eyes widened in surprise for a moment. "That does explain a few things," Dick admitted after a moment, still studying Superboy curiously.

Roy did not appear appeased, however. "I'm still not buying it," he said bluntly. "Superman's _clone?_ Maybe a few years ago I'd have accepted that story. Now?" He snorted, and then his eyes narrowed. "So what is it you're _really_ here for?"

Superboy's eyes narrowed right back, and he looked ready to fight again. Wally reached over hastily and put a hand on his shoulder to keep him still, and grimaced slightly at how tense the clone's muscles felt under his hand. "Trust me on this, Roy," Wally said slowly, coming to his friend's defense. "I know it sounds _really_ crazy post Z-day, but it's real. If you'd seen some of the things I've seen Supey here do, you'd believe me. Unless _you_ can pick up entire cars and throw them at zeds?" Roy's look softened just a tad, eyes flickering with hesitation, and Wally pounced on it, voice serious. "He saved my life loads of times, man. Lots of times using his powers, too. You know I wouldn't lie about this. I meant what I said earlier, I trust him with my back. He's good."

Roy took a deep breath, and seemed to grimace a little. After a moment, though, he turned his head to the side and muttered, "Sorry, Con..._Superboy._ Just...can't be too careful, these days." He wasn't looking at the clone when he said it, and Wally barely kept from smirking; Roy was almost as bad as Connor was when it came to apologizing.

Superboy was glaring daggers at Roy's head, still—_thank God for no heat vision,_ Wally thought to himself dryly—but after a moment sat back again in the couch and muttered, "It's fine. I get it."

_"Well,"_ Dick said, cutting through the tension with just a tad too much energy to be natural, "Now that _that's_ out of the way..."

"Right," Wally said, catching the cue. "Supey, to answer your question from earlier, we're telling them this because we're _all_ pretty much part of an exclusive club here."

Superboy still looked a little irritated at the lack of an actual answer in the answer, but after a moment his eyes widened, and Wally could tell he was putting the pieces together. "Gotham..._Rob_...exclusive club..." His eyes flicked to Dick, and he said flatly, "You're Robin. The Boy Wonder."

"The one and only," Dick drawled, but he was grinning at the same time.

"No wonder you're in charge here," Superboy said, dawning realization on his face. "You'd have had plenty of worst case scenario training, and all the skills to see things through."

"Sadly my training never included zombie apocalypses," Dick said, shrugging. "But hey, I was only Robin for a year before Z-day hit. Who knows, it might've been farther down the itinerary. It's been pretty useful for other stuff here, though."

Superboy smirked faintly, before his gaze swapped to Roy. "I don't have any knowledge of you," he said bluntly.

Wally winced, expecting it to start another tense argument, but Roy only shrugged. "I'm not surprised," he said. "I was only Green Arrow's partner for a couple months before Z-day hit. I used to run with him by the name Speedy. Then the age of heroes ended and it sort of became meaningless, so I gave up on the whole 'partner' thing."

"Green Arrow..." Wally could tell just by the way he said it that Superboy was scrolling through his mental databases again, but after a moment the clone nodded. "Another member of the Justice League. But Star City is on the _West_ coast. How did you end up here?"

For a moment Roy looked pained, and his eyes had a very far-away expression, like he was looking into the past. When he spoke, though, his voice was flat and emotionless, as distant as he could possibly make it. "I was fifteen when Z-day hit. It got messy fast, and I was still new to crime fighting, so Ollie—Green Arrow—forbade me from getting too heavily involved. I tried to help anyway, but we ended up getting split up in all the mess. By the time I realized what was going on it was too late; Star City was already pretty much overrun, and the Justice League was down.

"I didn't want to give up though. I'd met Robin once, when our mentors worked together on a mission. Figured maybe since we both had some crime fighting experience and were pretty much the only ones left, we could do something before it was too late." He snorted. "Then I found him out here coming up with the craziest plan I'd ever heard...taking over Arkham and turning it into a human fortress. I figured, if this _kid_ can pull off a miracle like that—"

"Hey!"

"—then I could at least lend him my strength to do it. So I stuck around. Been helping with security ever since...and keeping an eye on him, since he won't do it himself." Roy shot another dirty look at Dick.

"And...your mentor?" Superboy asked slowly.

"What about him?"

Superboy frowned. "Don't you want to know what happened to him? Try to keep in contact with him?"

"Ollie's smart, when he wants to be," Roy said. "He could've survived, maybe. But I'm a realist if nothing else. He's probably dead." He sounded dead too, when he said it.

Dick looked pained. "We don't know that, Roy," he said. His words were optimistic, but his voice sounded a bit strained. "He's not on my confirmed list either. And there are any number of reasons he might not have gotten in contact. There's no way for him to know you're over on the East coast. Even if he did know, if he's still on the West coast where you saw him last...that's all government and military occupied, and they weren't exactly on the League's _good_ side when it all happened. He could just be laying low, which is why there haven't been any sightings."

"Maybe," Roy said. He still sounded empty, like he didn't really believe it.

Wally winced in sympathy, and Superboy looked sorry he'd asked, although Wally wasn't sure if it was because he felt bad for bringing up a sore topic, or if he disliked that Roy had written off his mentor so easily. Wally could relate, in a way. It was hard, most days, to try and believe Uncle Barry was still out there alive and kicking, but he still liked having that microscopic thread of hope, and he couldn't imagine willingly snapping it like Roy had.

But things were too tense now, too unhappy, and Wally didn't like that. So he endeavored to change it. _"Anyway,"_ he interrupted, "the point is, all four of us have a sort of connection to the old heroes, which means we're all team mates too in our own weird way, y'know? We gotta look out for each other."

Superboy raised an eyebrow at this, and said slowly, "Wally, I'm a clone and these guys have both done crime-fighting in the past, but...how exactly do you, uh..."

Dick laughed. "Don't count him out just because he's only _related_ to a hero," he said, and he genuinely sounded amused. "He's definitely earned the right to be on _this_ team. But I guess he couldn't really tell you how we met, without spilling the secret, after all."

Superboy blinked, and looked back and forth between the two. Wally looked sheepish. "Really, that was nothing—"

"Nothing? Walls, do I need to remind you that you took down _six_ zombies when you were _twelve,_ just to save my life? And let's not forget, I was _Robin_ at the time, not Dick Grayson."

"You saved him when he was acting as a hero?" Superboy asked, incredulous. "Not that I should be surprised after what you did for me, but...I thought civilians were supposed to run away why the heroes confronted the danger?"

"Oh, come on! I wasn't gonna let a ten year old get eaten alive by dead heads, no matter what he was wearing at the time," Wally said defensively. "Besides, it was _Robin._ I mean, what kid _didn't_ want to be Robin at the time. Every kid looked up to the Boy Wonder!"

"Stop it, Walls, you're making me blush," Dick said, but he was still smirking. "But yeah, there was a huge attack of zombies at one of the child safety camps, which I'd been sent to at the time as well...I was told it was to protect the kids, but I know it was also to try and keep me out of the danger zones." The smile fell off his face for a moment, and he went on more seriously. "I _was_ trying to fight off some of the zeds to give a few kids a chance to run, but more came out of nowhere. They had me down and I was as good as dead, and then this kid just comes in and starts _wailing_ on the things with a baseball bat so hard he dented it, screaming bloody murder at the dead heads the whole time."

"You called me crazy," Wally said with a pout.

"You _were._ Superboy's right, normal people run_ away_ from the hot zones when their local heroes are dealing with the carnage and corpses," Dick said dryly. Then he smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If you hadn't I'd have a much paler complexion and be craving brains right about now."

"So you saved a hero," Superboy said.

"I guess. He saved me too, though. Got me out of the thick of it and helped me escape," Wally said with a shrug. "We've been friends ever since, and help each other out all the time. I give him reports, juicy bits of intel, and tech or supplies whenever I find it for the island, and sometimes I'll do short scouting missions for him. He keeps an eye out on things for my family, keeps me updated on stuff going around the country so I can plan my trips right, and makes sure I get everything I need when I stop in here."

"I also keep him from doing stupid things, but you already witnessed that," Dick added with surprising cheer.

"Yeah, yeah, stop rubbing it in,_ Boy Wonder..._"

Dick laughed.

"Roy helps out too," Wally added, gesturing to the self-proclaimed bodyguard. "Like you heard, he mostly does stuff here, but he's saved my butt a few times, too. He's a dead shot with a bow, I've never seen him miss. If zeds could feel fear they'd run every time they caught sight of him." Roy gave a slight nod to acknowledge the compliment, and Wally grinned. "And now that _you're_ part of the group, Supey, they'll help you, too."

"Which brings us full circle," Dick said seriously. "What _did_ you need my help with?"

"I need answers," Superboy murmured softly. "Wally said you might be able to help me get them."

"I've got answers for a lot of things," Dick said. "You'll have to be more specific."

"We'll have to have story time first," Wally countered. "Need to explain a few things." And in between bites as he devoured the basket of rations with his friends, he told the New Batcave residents all about his exploration of Cadmus, culminating with his discovery of Superboy isolated on the very bottom floor with seemingly no explanation as to why he'd been abandoned there. Superboy occasionally pitched in with minor details that he remembered about the facility from his waking onward, but mostly he remained quiet. Roy and Dick were silent during the retelling, and the only interruption came when Wally paused in the middle of his own story to wheedle Dick into eating a little dinner himself. Dick seemed a bit reluctant to try, but Wally at least got him nibbling on a little bit of cheese and bread, and he was not in the least bit surprised by Roy's grateful look over the youngest teen's shoulder.

When Wally finally ground to a halt sometime later, both Dick and Roy looked pensive. He glanced over at Superboy next; the clone looked tense and a little anxious, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Wally didn't blame him, now that they were so close to potentially getting answers. He'd be nervous too if their positions were switched.

After a moment Dick said, "Cadmus...I don't remember anything about a Cadmus from before Z-day. I don't even remember seeing it in Batman's files." Wally caught the faint break in his voice at Batman's name, but just barely. "You, Roy?"

The archer shook his head. "No. Nothing. But then, most of my crime-fighting experience is West Coast."

"Fair point." Dick frowned. "I wonder if they knew anything about this place, though. Cadmus was clearly up to no good, if all the stuff you reported seeing in their notes was correct."

"I thought the same thing," Wally admitted. "Uncle Barry never would have stood for any of this stuff going down if he'd known about it. Some of the things they were doing were really twisted. And I can only assume they made all the weird monsters I kept finding in there, because they were like nothing I'd ever seen before..."

"You can bet they didn't obtain Superman's DNA legally, either," Roy added. "I doubt he gave it to them willingly. I can't even imagine _how_ they managed it; Kryptonian invulnerability should have made taking samples impossible."

Superboy frowned at that, eyes narrowed. "Are you saying he wouldn't have approved of me?" he asked angrily, but there was a faint tremor of apprehension in his voice that Wally was pretty sure only he caught.

Dick held up his hands placatingly. "Roy's not saying that at all," he soothed. "I'm sure he would have been happy to meet you if things turned out differently. He just...probably wouldn't have approved of the, uh, less than reputable way they went about it." Superboy seemed to relax just slightly—_nice going, Dick,_ Wally thought approvingly—and Dick asked more seriously, "Look, SB, I notice you didn't have anything to add about Cadmus other than what you and Wally found when you left. Do you remember anything _else_ about the place?"

"No."

"We can't help you if you hide things," Roy told him bluntly.

Superboy scowled. "I'm _not,_" he snapped back. "I don't remember anything! Nothing _useful_, anyway. Bits and pieces. Color. Movement. Pictures in my head, like dreams but not. Information. Lots and lots of information all the time." He shook his head. "But nothing _useful._"

"Okay, okay, that's fine," Dick soothed again. "Just trying to figure out what's going on here. Any clues we can get will help."

"I'm pretty sure the information bit is stuff that was downloaded into his head in some way," Wally offered helpfully. "I couldn't tell you _how_, but he's got whole libraries of stuff in that brain of his. It goes up until close to Z-day, but then it just kind of cuts off. When I first found him he didn't know about the apocalypse at all, and none of the implanted images or memories in his head match the way the world is today."

"Something had to have happened," Roy said. "Too quickly and too suddenly for them to react. They wouldn't have left Superboy behind if they'd been given a choice. This..._Project Kr_ was clearly very valuable to them, if they were willing to risk obtaining Superman's DNA unwillingly and set the project at the lowest, most defensible level. And you said these other...creatures, whatever they were...didn't look like they'd been in a fight. That all points to something internal, or some sort of panic."

"Agreed," Dick said with a nod, "Something happened in there, suddenly enough to halt all productions and projects. You didn't see any human corpses, so it sounds like the scientists probably ran for it, but they didn't have time to pack up the important stuff. Which leaves Superboy abandoned in a pod for four years." His eyes narrowed, and he sounded angry at the prospect, much like Wally had been when he'd first stumbled across the clone. "Honestly, you're lucky those...whatever they were, the electricity-generating creatures, were still producing even after death. Without the life support the emergency systems were providing..." He let it hang, but Wally swallowed suddenly; he hadn't even considered that possibility. The thought that Superboy might have died alone and unknown, spending his entire existence from birth to death in an induced sleep, was too horrible to dwell on.

Superboy looked frustrated. "That doesn't answer any questions for me, though," he said harshly, putting his head in his hands. "Why _do _I know all these things? Why did they _want _me to know these things? Why did they stop? Why can't I remember anything _else?_ Why wasn't I _activated_ when Z-day hit, if they really wanted me to replace Superman? Was that _really _the point of my creation at all? _Why _did they leave me down there to rot?" And softer, sounding just as broken as the day Superboy first realized he couldn't fly, "Why aren't I as strong as the _real _Superman? Why don't I have all his powers?"

Dick looked sympathetic. "I don't know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more, but all I can give is speculations, without more evidence to work off of. If I was there, or had access to one of their computers—"

"Or one of their flash drives?" Wally interrupted with a grin. He drew from his pocket the little drive he'd stolen from the Cadmus computer bank in Project Kr's room, and waved it in front of Dick's nose.

The former Robin's eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of the technology. "Or one of those," he agreed. "Do you know if it's encrypted?"

"No idea," Wally admitted. "I just took it from the computer outside Supey's pod. None of the computers were working there, it was all emergency power only. I had to grab something and hope for the best. It's a long shot, but I figure if anybody can get anything out of it, it'd be you."

"You've got that right," Dick said. His eyes were sparkling now at the prospect of a challenge, and he snatched the flash drive from Wally's hand, jumping to his feet. "C'mon, let's go."

"Maybe you should rest for the night and try this in the morning," Roy said, through grit teeth.

"Are you kidding? I do all my best work at night. Always have." Dick was already bounding for the door in the back of his little cottage, drawing a key from a cord around his neck as he did so. He unlocked the door and held it open for the others, adding with a cackle, "Welcome to my lair."

Wally grinned as he stepped into the room, with a curious Connor and a muttering Roy hot on his heels. He'd only been back here once or twice, but it still never ceased to amaze him, and it _definitely _qualified as a 'lair.' It was dark, _very _dark, with only a single dimly lit shaded lamp hanging from the ceiling for light. It was nearly the size of the little studio-apartment room outside, and every inch of it was _packed_ with flickering screens, blinking lights, cool metal and smooth plastic surfaces, and enough wires slithering between the machines to choke a dinosaur. A small corner was devoted to a pile of electronics currently _not _on or blinking, most of them waiting to be gutted for parts, and the room possessed only a single chair. Wally always figured it was like some crazy cross between mission control, a computer junkyard, and a gamer nerd's paradise, and it always astounded him to think that every single machine in here had basically been built from scratch from a variety of abandoned parts. Dick always came across as clever, but it was in this room, his _real _haven, that his genius truly showed.

"Watch your step," Dick said, for Superboy's benefit more than anything else, as he slid into the chair confidently. He tapped on the keys to the central machine as they gathered around him, adding, "No promises on what I'll be able to pull up, mind. Cadmus was clearly working with high-end technology even by pre-Z-day standards. If I was working with the _real _Batcave's system, I'd probably be able to crack it in seconds, but with this cobbled together system this could get really tricky. Maybe even impossible. But I'll see what I can do."

He looked positively _excited _by the challenge, genuinely _happy, _and Wally wasn't exactly sure if he should smile for his friend, or feel sorry for him. Dick got _plenty _of challenges these days, running one of the only human strongholds left in existence, but rarely did he get the intellectual challenges he probably _should _have had. This was a rare chance to exercise his brain, clearly something he hadn't had in a long, long time.

"If you can find _anything_..." Superboy murmured softly. "Anything at all. I'll be grateful."

"Just don't say you'll owe him, he'll never let you live that down," Wally warned his friend teasingly.

"Hey!" Dick smacked his friend over the chair arm, and then went back to work, inserting the flash drive and typing madly. All Wally could make out were very _long _and complex lines of numbers and symbols that flashed past so quickly he could barely keep up with them, and Dick's fingers were blurs over the keyboard. Then the machine beeped, and Dick fell still, studying the screen thoughtfully.

"Well?" Wally prompted.

"It's encrypted."

"Can you break it?"

"Of _course _I can break it," Dick said, smirking. "These Cadmus guys might've figured they were good but they were also lazy, 'least as far as their external storage was concerned. Or maybe somebody just didn't cover their tracks properly. I can crack it..._but _it's gonna take a while. Like, a _long _while, with this outdated system. We're talking hours." He cracked his neck and settled deeper into the seat, finishing with, "You guys might as well turn in for the night. You were traveling all day, you must be beat. I'll be through this by tomorrow and we'll have access to any answers that might be on here."

"_Dick,_" Roy growled in exasperation.

"Dick's left the building, Roy," the youngest teen shot back glibly. "Robin's out of retirement for the night. No, don't give me that look, this is important and you know it." He cracked his fingers and set to work typing madly at the keyboard, almost instantly zoning into the work and ignoring the others around him.

Roy sighed, but clearly knew better; once Dick was fixated on something it was impossible to stop him until he'd seen himself through to his goal. "You may as well rest," he told the travelers. "Waiting around won't help any, and it's not all that exciting to watch him type strings of gibberish for hours at a time." He led them back out to the first room. Superboy looked reluctant to leave the computer stations, but followed after a moment once he realized that code was apparently the one language he _wasn't _gifted with.

"There's blankets in that chest over there," Roy told them, gesturing to the small box sitting underneath the work table, "if you want to lay any out for the floor, or on the couch. Latrine is out back if you need it. I'm on guard duty tonight, so if you need anything, feel free to ask—as long as it's not more food," he added, giving Wally an irritated look. Wally offered him a cheesy grin. Roy shook his head in exasperation, but added more softly, "Rest easy. Things are safe here, and I've got my eyes open, so there's no need to sleep light."

Wally smiled. Roy said essentially the same thing every time he visited the island. It was the archer's own rough-but-serious way of showing that he cared and understood, despite his bluntness and frequent mistrust; he always encouraged Wally to relax, and confidently offered protection. It felt good, and it felt..._safe, _to know somebody as competent as Roy was looking out for him. Even Superboy seemed to relax, slowly but visibly, with the promise.

"Dibs on the couch!" Wally called loudly. Superboy rolled his eyes as Wally tossed him a few blankets from the chest, but didn't argue, and after a moment started making a rough nest of blankets on the floor in one corner. "What," Wally asked teasingly, as he tossed a blanket over the couch for himself and kicked off his shoes, "no bookcase imitation tonight?" Actually Superboy hadn't tried the strange pod-stand-sleep since that one night at Cadmus, but Wally largely figured it was due to a lack of decent walls while traveling, and that he'd be right back to it for old time's sake.

But Superboy just shook his head and said dryly, "I've gotten used to sleeping on the ground like you normal people," and curled up on his blanket-nest, head pillowed on his arms.

Wally laughed, flopped down on the couch, and stretched out to make himself comfortable. He was asleep before Roy was even out the door to start his patrols, and never heard it close.


	9. Chapter 9

**Age of Heroes**

Part nine of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note:** Sorry for being a few days late with this one. Between work and getting sick it's been a little hard to edit. Here we go now, though!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"I say ya kill your heroes and—  
Fly, fly, baby don't cry.  
No need to worry 'cause—  
Everybody will die.  
Every day we just—  
Go, go, baby don't go.  
Don't you worry, we—  
Love you more than you know."  
~_Kill Your Heroes, _AWOLNATION

* * *

Wally was actually surprised to find himself waking almost two hours past dawn; he must have been exhausted, to sleep in like that. Yawning, he stretched and sat up on the couch, glancing around blearily. Superboy was awake already, leaning back against the end of the couch near Wally's head, with the Justice League interview book carefully propped open on his knees. Peeking over the arm rest (and thus Superboy's shoulder), he was surprised to find the pages opened not to Superman's chapter, but Green Arrow's.

"Studying up on Roy, huh?" Wally asked him.

Superboy was obviously not surprised to hear him awake, but he did glance up and put a finger to his lips, before gesturing towards the cot in the far corner of the room. Wally could just make out the small lump under the thin blanket, rising and falling gently in sleep, and Dick's dark hair splayed out on the pillow.

"Oh," Wally muttered under his breath, barely audible—but that was one of the perks (and occasional curse) of having Connor as a friend; he'd hear it anyway. "You know if he found anything?"

"No," Superboy murmured back. "Roy carried him out of the..._lair..._around four in the morning, but he was already asleep then. Told me if I woke him up he'd find a way to hunt down some Kryptonite and teach me a lesson." He snorted softly.

"And thus the studying?" Wally asked lowly. "I figured you'd be reading about more _local _heroes, honestly." He gestured in Dick's direction.

"Already read his chapter. Batman's the only one that didn't give an interview; it wasn't that hard."

Wally was hardly surprised by this, but before he could comment Roy entered the cottage quietly, closing the door softly so it didn't snap. He nodded to their guests, and deposited a new basket and a thermos on the ground in front of the couch before taking Dick's chair from the night before. "Breakfast," he said softly, without any preamble.

"You're a life-saver, Roy," Wally said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster while still being quiet. He slipped off the couch to sit on the floor and sort through the basket, while Connor quietly put his book away and came over to join them. "Fresh strawberries, wow...more bread...and _eggs?_"

"Just hard-boiled," Roy said. "Nothing fancy, but everything's all produced on the island one way or another."

"And the thermos?"

"Tea. I know what you're thinking, shut up," the bodyguard added with a scowl, as he caught sight of Wally's amused smirk. Wally chuckled under his breath. Not a butler, yeah right!

"Leave some for Dick," Roy warned, as they dug into breakfast, this time with the archer joining them. He popped a strawberry in his mouth and seemed to chew thoughtfully for a moment, before adding more softly, "But Wally, if you can get him to eat as well as you did last night, I will _personally _pay in trade for you to get some of the last strawberry harvest in your pack when you leave."

Superboy frowned, and glanced over at the figure in the bed. "Why? Is he sick or something?"

"Not exactly," Roy said, voice flat, although Wally could hear trace hints of concern in it. "He goes through these phases of short-term insomnia, and his appetite usually drops with it when he does. It's stress-related. He puts on a good game face, but it really gets to him, to have to make some of the tougher calls. Not all the decisions we need to make here are..._pleasant, _exactly."

Wally grimaced. It was unfair to force a fourteen year old to make as many life-or-death calls as Dick had to, in order to protect and support a fragile apocalypse-born colony. But he _was _still the best-qualified candidate for the job, and it wasn't in his nature to back down when people needed help, either, even if it _did _come with a huge boatload of stress-related problems.

"Sometimes you just have to let him work himself into a stupor," Roy finished with a quiet sigh of exasperation. "It's the only way he gets any rest otherwise, we don't even have the medications to spare as sleeping aids. Eating, though, that's trickier."

"I'll do what I can," Wally offered. He'd have done it even without the harvest bribe, honestly.

They made small talk for a few hours as quietly as they could, while letting Dick sleep undisturbed in the corner. Roy updated Wally on most of the goings-on at New Batcave since he'd been there last, six months ago, and explained the island's features and facilities in more detail to a curious Superboy. Wally, in turn, gave Roy updates on the lay of the land in the surrounding area, and notified him about a few supply caches they'd found while traveling, too big and too much for single travelers to do anything with but potential targets for a well-organized, highly-trained foraging party.

It passed the time, and by the time Dick stirred on the bed and groaned as he slowly began to slip back into wakefulness, it was nearly ten thirty in the morning. Superboy looked antsy and was clearly impatient to get his answers, but Roy gave him a look that clearly said _I really will find a way to kill you, _and Connor refrained from pouncing before the youngest teen was even fully conscious. Besides, Wally could tell Superboy was starting to grow more fond of the former sidekicks, and that meant he was actually, genuinely concerned for their well-being, too.

They gave Dick some time to wake up and eat (true to his word, Wally managed to cheerfully coax his friend into having a decent meal) and by eleven he was as energetic as ever. "I broke through last night," he told them excitedly. "Downloaded all of the information to my own systems to be safe, too. You will not _believe _some of the stuff that was on that thing." He gestured for them to accompany him into his makeshift lair again (still very dark, due to a lack of windows) and toggled on a number of screens, each displaying various photographs and veritable _walls _of text.

"Hey," Wally said, pointing at one of the photos—it was the same long-limbed elf thing that he'd found when he'd first wandered down into Cadmus. "I recognize that thing. It was one of the monsters."

Dick gestured to the screens and other photos. "Yup. All of these are. According to the files, they're called 'genomorphs.'" Wally blinked; that sounded familiar. Hadn't Superboy rambled something about genomorphs, back when he'd first pulled the clone out of his pod?

"They're genetically engineered life forms," Dick added. "Amongst other things, Cadmus was apparently playing God. All the different types are designed for a different purpose. Just look at the stats on some of these things." He clicked rapidly between individual creature data. "Super strength, razor claws...these tiny ones even have _telepathy._"

"Weapons," Roy summarized flatly. "An army of living weapons."

Superboy's hands clenched tightly, so hard Wally could hear them crackling. "I'm _also _a genomorph," he growled slowly, low in his throat. "Does that also make _me _a weapon?"

Wally winced. He'd long ago guessed that this was Superboy's intended function, but he'd never really wanted to bring his speculations to light...and he felt even worse now, knowing he was right.

Roy was either unimpressed by or uncaring of the warning tone in Superboy's voice, and his answer was blunt. "_We _know you aren't," he said, "but it's not unreasonable to assume that if these people were willing to grow you secretly in a tube fifty stories below ground, they also believed they could control you enough to use you as a weapon. And quite frankly, Superman _was _capable of causing a lot of damage, even if he never used his powers that way. Somebody screwed up enough in the head could easily imagine putting those abilities to a more dangerous purpose...like in military operations, or even against the Justice League."

Superboy's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then his face fell as he repeated the purpose scripted into his head. "Created to replace or _destroy_ Superman..." he murmured softly, staring at nothing. He looked almost ill.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Dick interrupted, before things could get worse. "The projects obviously failed, and you're not being controlled by Cadmus at all anymore, Connor. You're free to live your own life. That includes living it as a person, not a weapon."

"_My _choice," Superboy repeated, echoing Wally's old promises when he'd first found the clone. He sounded determined as he added, "Not as a...a _replacement, _or a tool."

"That's right, dude," Wally encouraged, hoping to keep his friend from getting too down. "And those Cadmus guys will just have to deal with it, if we ever run across them again. Nobody's controlling or using you on our watch." The others nodded in agreement, and with the way Dick's eyes narrowed, he had a feeling the kid'd be doing more thorough research later, to see if he could dig up a few names. They probably wouldn't be welcome in New Batcave if they ever showed up. Wally tried hard not to let himself feel _too _much vindictive satisfaction at that.

"So that explains the basics for why Superboy was created to begin with," Dick continued, drawing up more screens, "But the real juicy intel was locked in this _Project Kr _file. It took me forever to break into this thing, it was triple encrypted, even on the drive, but it's not hard to see why."

The screen changed to a photo of Superboy, quietly asleep in a much less dirty pod, with three of the tiny creatures hanging over his head in a strange apparatus that Wally hadn't even noticed when he'd found the room. It was obviously taken years ago, but Connor didn't look like he'd aged a day. Superboy shifted uncomfortably next to him, apparently not liking the reminder of how he'd been locked up for so long.

Dick tapped out something on the keys, and a bubble of text appeared next to the photo. "They seemed to have a decent handle on cloning tech," he began. "They force-grew you in just a couple of months—the records say the project began in early January of two-thousand and seven. They would have finished the physical developments barely a month before Z-day hit. But here's the real kicker: your DNA isn't one hundred percent Kryptonian."

Superboy's eyes widened. "What? Why not? I'm supposed to be a clone of _Superman!_"

"And you are," Dick said, "But not completely. Look here, at this note. It mentions something about pure Kryptonian DNA being too unstable to clone effectively, resulting in a lot of premature deaths in the cloning process, or unstable brain functions in young adolescent cloning attempts. They decided to resolve the issue by mixing _human _DNA into the process, which seems to have stabilized your growth both mentally and physically, and let you reach full maturity."

"What'd I tell ya?" Wally asked, nudging Connor gently in the side with an elbow. "Humans, we don't just roll over and die. Bet that's the part that saved you."

Superboy looked stunned at the revelation, and was rendered speechless. Wally didn't blame him—it _was _a pretty crazy thing to discover. Then he blinked in surprise as he realized something of his own. "Does it say who _that _DNA is from?" Wally always felt sorry when Superboy read through his book or asked almost longingly about stories of Superman, wanting but never able to know his family. But if he had a human donor too, there was a chance that person was still out there, a chance he could still have _some _form of family...

"No," Dick sighed. "It just mentions the donor is anonymous." Wally's face fell. Well, it _had _been a long shot. Superboy looked further dejected as well, so Dick addressed him again. "But moving on, you mentioned that you don't have _all _of Superman's powers, right? I'd be willing to put money on that being the reason why."

"That would make sense," Roy agreed. "Genetically speaking, humans aren't capable of any Kryptonian feats. The human DNA might have stabilized him, but with the trade-off of subduing Kryptonian powers."

"That's why I can't fly," Superboy said softly, staring at his own photograph on the screen. "Or use any form of vision beyond infrared, or have super speed. I'm a defective cloning attempt..."

"Still more than any of _us _can do," Wally said, in an effort to cheer his friend up. He hated that Superboy always seemed to beat himself up over not being comparable to the original—it wasn't like he'd _chosen _to be born 'defective,' or even at all. When Superboy did not look reassured he added, "Those powers have still saved me loads of times, Supey. It doesn't matter _how _they compare to Superman's, you're still really strong—literally, even—and you're still surviving. That's what counts."

"Powers are overrated, anyway," Dick added, and Roy snorted in agreement, but nodded. "So what if you can't do _everything _Superman can do? You're part _human, _there's great stuff there too. We're tenacious, enduring, adaptable, and innovative; I mean, just look around. It's the apocalypse and we're still going strong." He grinned. "You get the best of both worlds, SB, it's really a good thing."

Superboy hesitated a moment, but then a slow, tentative smirk slipped on to his face. "Maybe you're right," he admitted after a moment. "It's only been a month, but all the humans I've met have managed to do some pretty incredible things, without powers at all..."

"I think he's talking about you," Wally hissed to Dick in a loud stage whisper.

"Not you _too, _SB, I haven't been so flattered since my cape and tights days," Dick joked, with faked high-pitched embarrassment.

"He's talking about _both _of you idiots," Roy said dryly. "God only knows why." They grinned, and Superboy actually snorted in amusement, which was as good as a bark of laughter from him.

Dick turned back to the screens a moment later, falling serious once again. "There's more stuff in here too," he explained. "All the information in your head? Wally was right, it _was _downloaded straight to your brain...using these guys." He pulled up an image of one of the tiny monsters Wally had seen scattered about Cadmus, and then gestured to the same things crouching in the apparatus over photograph-Superboy's head. "They're genomorphs, classification 'Gnomes.' They were telepathically force-feeding you an education once your physical developments were completed. That's how all that imagery and knowledge got into your head, even though you'd never left the facility before."

Superboy frowned. "They were in my _head?_" He did not look comfortable with the thought.

"To teach you," Dick said. "And it extends a lot farther than you might think. There's the information downloads, and teaching you the basics of language, but it also extends to physical abilities as well. Wally said you came out fighting—you knew how to walk, you had hand-eye coordination, and you were able to communicate relatively quickly. Those are all fine motor skills that typically take _months _of practice and experimentation for babies to figure out. Even humans recovering from serious accidents typically need a lot of physical therapy to recover those abilities. The fact that you could do it right away implies they were conditioning you physically as well."

"That's not all," Roy added. "If the process extends that far there could be inherent sleeper triggers buried in your head that you don't even know about."

"Roy!" Wally snapped, giving him a dark look.

"I'm being realistic about this," the archer shot back, not looking in the least bit sorry. "Even regular humans are susceptible to suggestion with things like hypnotism, and that's not taking into account telepathy and genetic programming. We can't forget you _were _intended for use as a weapon, even if history went in a different direction. You're supposed to be a fully operational clone of the Man of Steel—there's no way ordinary scientists would be able to stand a chance against you if you decided to rebel. They'd have most likely slipped something into your head to control you. Better that you're aware of the possibility _now, _then find out the hard way later."

Superboy looked angry at the prospect, although he seemed more furious at the Cadmus scientists than at Roy. At least he wasn't metaphorically shooting the messenger. Instead he growled softly, "How am I supposed to know?"

Dick sighed. "In the current age? We can't. Pre Z-day it would have been easy to just borrow a telepath or something from the Justice League and take a look through your head. As it is, all I can offer is some basic advice: if you do have conditioning somewhere, it'll most likely be triggered in an auditory fashion. A handler probably couldn't get a hand on you before you could fight back, but they _could _yell something easily. It'd have to be something uncommon enough to not come up in regular conversation, either, and probably it'll have significance to the project or the people that commissioned it to begin with." He offered a smile. "Stay whelmed, SB, it's probably not as bad as you think. Even if you do have some programming in your head, it's the apocalypse—I really doubt anybody around cares about that stuff anymore. Whoever started the project is probably long dead."

Superboy looked grim, but nodded after a moment. Then he frowned. "But if they were...directly downloading all of these _things _into my head...why can't I _remember _any of them? And why did they stop? I don't know anything about Z-day or the apocalypse or the walking dead from those databases. I didn't know it was even happening until Wally took me out of Cadmus and I saw it for myself. And I didn't recognize any of the other genomorphs, or...or _anything _related to Cadmus at all." He looked frustrated.

"Ah. Now _that _doesn't have an official answer, but I think I have a theory about it," Dick said, tapping at the computer again. "There's a brief mention in the last file on the drive here about a dangerous contagion sweeping the globe, and it's dated in May, when the outbreak started. My guess is they're referring to Z-day, but they didn't sound too concerned about it—at first. And then they learned the genomorphs were _particularly _susceptible to whatever it is that transforms sentient creatures into dead heads."

He frowned. "Humans, Atlanteans, and even Kryptonians are infected by a bite or a transfer of fluids, but that requires direct contact. It sounds like the genomorphs were more sensitive to the infection and could get it through air-born transfer. Something about the genetic engineering from scratch and not a clone base, not sure what, it doesn't specify. Cadmus decided their living weapons were a little too dangerous when turned into mindless flesh-craving monsters and terminated the project. Already-turned genomorphs were killed and burned. The rest were intended to be..._euthanized_...with a failsafe trigger built into their genetic coding."

Dick looked disgusted as he explained, and Superboy's angry snarl and the way he cracked his knuckles barely hid the uncomfortable look in his eyes. Wally didn't blame them; he felt his stomach twist with horror. That would explain why all of the monsters he'd seen looked liked they'd simply collapsed without so much as a fight—they _had. _They'd been pretty terrifying monstrosities, but if Dick was right and they were truly sentient creatures...that was mass murder on a grand scale, for creatures that could very well have been just like Superboy, made as weapons without being given a choice in the matter.

"That's pretty sick," Roy said out loud, shaking his head as he voiced their thoughts. "There's no way the League knew about this place. If these people were willing to go _that _far, who knows what else they were getting up to?" He frowned. "But that doesn't explain the correlation between Superboy and his missing memories. He obviously wasn't part of the termination trigger, so that wouldn't have had any effect on him."

"No, he wasn't, and before you ask, no, there's no notations about a failsafe trigger in him either," Dick said, cutting Wally off before he could speak. "But it probably _did _affect the G-Gnomes forcibly downloading information into his head at the time. If that telepathic link snapped in the middle of an intense information download..."

"The mental backlash could have been enough to wipe out that information and any number of other related memories or functions," Roy finished. "It's possible," he conceded after a moment, with a slow nod. "The drive is dated post Z-day—it's even possible that they _were _attempting to alter your education and memories for the outbreak, so you could be activated against them, but everything was wiped out when the telepathic link was cut."

"That explains why he didn't know anything from the past four years, either," Wally said slowly. "No gnome-things to download updates into his head after they're...turned off...and since he was still in a pod, there was no way for him to figure it out any other way..." He frowned. "But why _would _they just...stop...the gnomes in the middle of an intel download, anyway?"

"Dick and Roy were guessing last night that they left in a hurry," Superboy said slowly. "That they panicked, and that they wouldn't have left me behind if they'd had more time to prepare for leaving. If they had to activate the failsafe remotely while trying to escape..."

Dick nodded. "It's only a guess, but probably what happened," he agreed. "The outbreak hit everywhere very suddenly—it caused a lot of widespread panic and mass evacuations with little to no warning. The scientists were probably forced to run for it without any forewarning. They likely activated the genomorph failsafe as a last-ditch effort to keep their genetics projects from turning on them when trying to escape. That interrupts your education, destroys some of your information acquisition, and leaves you in suspended animation for four years without being woken, letting the apocalypse pass you by without even knowing about it."

There was silence for a very long time as Superboy stared at the screens, processing everything Dick had uncovered. The others remained silent, giving him a chance to come to grips with his own origins. But finally, after a very long moment, Connor asked slowly, "Is that everything?"

"Everything on this drive," Dick confirmed quietly. "If there's more, I don't have access to it. Not here. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be." Superboy sounded tired, and his expression was a little strained, like he was overwhelmed with all the things he'd learned about himself so fast. But a moment later he stood tall, shoulders back, and said with some measure of confidence, "You helped a lot. All of you. I would never have figured any of this out without your help, but...now I know. Where I came from. Why I was made. Why my abilities are..._different..._than Superman's. Why I was abandoned and why this _isn't _the world I was intended for."

Wally gave him a pained look. "Supey, don't be like that—"

"No, you don't understand." Superboy glanced over at him, and Wally was surprised to see the faintest trace of a confident _smirk, _one that grew as he spoke. "I've been _wondering _about all this stuff ever since I woke up, just wanting _answers. _It's all I could focus on. But now I've got them, so I can finally stop focusing on them and move _forward. _Like you said—maybe this isn't the world I was designed for, but I can still make a place for myself in it. And now I can _really _work on that without any distractions."

Wally's grin was practically blinding, and even Roy offered a smirk of his own. Dick cackled and said almost gleefully, "That's the _human _part of you talking, you know!"

"I figured." Superboy didn't look particularly upset by this. "It's not so bad. Being human, I mean."

And as Wally watched his little makeshift family-team happily welcoming their newest member fully into the fold, he decided it wasn't so bad, either, being related to an alien. Things could be weirder, after all, right?


	10. Chapter 10

**Age of Heroes**

Part ten of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"Sometimes I think that's where most of us are. Fighting off the crazy as best we can. Trying to become something better than we were. It's that second bit that's important."  
~_Cold Days, _Jim Butcher

* * *

They spent the next week as personal guests of Dick Grayson at New Batcave.

Waiting around so long made Wally more than a little fidgety, he had to admit. Ever since the outbreak he'd always been constantly on the move, traveling from one place to another working on leads to his family, and being forced to stay put for _any _length of time always drove him a little crazy. But Dick had a point—it was beyond stupid to head out into the zombie-infested wilderness with serious storms heading their way. So as frustrating as it was to be stuck on the island for a week, Wally stayed without complaining (too much, anyway).

Besides, it wasn't as though he was sitting around and twiddling his thumbs. New Batcave was a hub of post-apocalyptic civilization, which meant there was always _something _to do there, and plenty of people to interact with. He spent a lot of time down on the grounds, wandering through the makeshift streets, talking to various travelers and civilians, and (his personal favorite) hitting on girls. Pre Z-day he'd only been twelve and was only just getting to that stage where girls were interesting and not covered in cooties, but the rules and tricks for getting a girl's attention back _then _were way different than they were _now. _Back then he'd have been an undesirable geek and the girls would probably have tittered behind their hands at his attempts at pick-up lines. _Now _he was considered a veritable badass because he'd been surviving out in zed territory for four years and had the stories (and the scars) to back it up, and girls ate that stuff up.

Also, it was significantly easier to get their attention when Superboy wasn't trailing around behind him. Because apparently lone-wolf personas and unfairly huge muscles were still in, Z-day or no, and beat out 'survivalist badass' every time. Especially when said lone wolf with too many muscles was _also _a survivalist badass.

Completely not fair, that.

But Superboy didn't like heading out to the crowds much, so Wally didn't have to worry about competition there, at least. Even if it did feel sort of weird, to not have his half-Kryptonian, half-human, all-clone shadow wandering around after him, after over a month of traveling with company. Connor didn't seem to know what to do when Wally hung out 'downtown' for the day, either—but this was hardly surprising, since Wally had pretty much always been around for what was, in essence, Connor's entire life, all _one month _of it. And chronologically speaking he was only, what, four? So Wally supposed a little separation anxiety was pretty normal. As was the anti-social behavior, which Wally was starting to think was more or less attributed to being locked in a pod his whole life, and less the early stages of zed paranoia (which was a good thing, because if _Superboy _snapped and went postal in the middle of a settlement, that could be...very, _very _bad).

So while Wally headed down to the crowds and the heart of what passed for civilization, Connor tended to stay behind at the generator complex where it was quieter and less intense. Dick, at least, could be trusted to keep a sharp eye out for him while still making it look completely natural. He had a knack for working with people subtly and skillfully while still making them feel comfortable, and within the first day had already figured out a number of ways to make Superboy feel like a part of the family, without becoming overbearing and invasive about it. He'd gotten Superboy involved in a few tasks for repairing the generator, figured out exactly which buttons of Superboy's to push without him completely flying off the handle, let him read through the tiny collection of books he'd managed to save over the years, and even gave him a few basic combat lessons, because Dick wasn't Robin anymore but he still practiced every day all the same.

Not that Wally let him get around with hanging out at Dick's house the _entire _time they were there. Admittedly, a vast portion of their time _was _spent hiding indoors, because the thunderstorms that ripped through the New England area were _fierce, _with booming thunder and daylight-bright flashes of lightning and violent winds and sheets of rain so thick you could barely see more than a few feet in front of you. You had no choice but to stay indoors, then; everyone did, and it was the only time the grounds were cleared of people, when everyone retreated indoors to the dorms or below ground to the grottos and catacombs that had existed below Arkham for ages. In between the storms wasn't all that better, with gray skies and dreary (but lighter) rains, and when people _did _come out they were crabby from being locked up so long.

But on the rare days, or in the rare moments, when it was brighter and sunnier and the people crawled out of the dark and popped up on the grounds like they'd never left, Wally would sometimes drag Connor out with him, just to try and get him a little more used to the people. He was careful to pick his targets carefully; throwing Superboy into the midst of argumentative tradesmen, aggressive teenagers trying to prove a point, or a gaggle of giggling girls was sure to invite trouble. But there were other places on the island to break the clone in to socialization, _slowly. _

Once he took him down to the small animal farm adjacent to the Botanical Gardens. The location was fenced off carefully and also posted with guards, so that the civilians couldn't harm the much-needed animals or get it into their head to steal one. But Roy had equipped them with passes for their duration on the island ("to prevent you antagonizing my guards further, West," he'd growled in irritation, when he handed them over) and it was easy to get in. Connor's fascination with animals outside the walls of New Batcave extended to the more docile ones inside, enough that he actually willingly engaged in conversation with the few animal handlers as they dutifully answered his questions. He helped with feeding some of the animals once given instructions, gently stroked a rat-catching tomcat feigning disinterest in him when it came up to investigate, and bemusedly rescued Wally from a (positively vicious, sadistic, _evil_) rooster that crowed angrily and attacked when they got too close to its harem of hens.

"Only thing those are good for is _eating,_" Wally muttered, safely thirty feet away from the nasty birds.

"They're not so bad," Superboy said, watching the rooster as it finally gave up on trying to peck him to death and strutted off importantly.

"Says the invulnerable guy," Wally muttered. "And I bet your human donor was a farmer too, you animal-hugger."

Connor was just enough of a jerk to smirk at him.

Working off the theory that Superboy was less likely to react badly to tiny things like chickens, Wally decided to take him down to visit the New Batcave 'orphanage' during another lull in the weather. It wasn't really much of an orphanage; if anything, it was more like a community thing set aside in a part of the mansion, where all the abandoned kids on the island that couldn't look out for themselves were put. Mostly it consisted of the youngest tykes that had miraculously managed to survive Z-day somehow—via a parent or sibling or (sadly more common) a total stranger dropping them off, or more rarely from their own luck—but hadn't been hit with heavily debilitating anxiety and stress disorders or mental instability in the process. (The last part _was _depressingly common, and those kids were housed in the medical facility). There were a few staff members always on hand to look out for the abandoned kids, but a pretty steady influx of volunteers that dropped in on a regular basis to assist as well.

It was a pretty depressing set-up even so—there were a _lot _of abandoned kids there. And that wasn't even counting the ones with backstories like Wally's or Dick's, the young kids that might have been only nine or ten or eleven when Z-day hit but were mentally going on twenty or thirty and had figured out how to not just survive, but help others survive too. Those kids had their own places in New Batcave society as workers and soldiers in training, were veterans in their own right, and weren't insulted by being treated like they were useless when they weren't. _These_ kids in the program, these were the ones that were alive by the grace of God or luck or somebody else's rare kindness, and wouldn't have made it long before becoming zed food if they'd been on their own.

But Dick was the one in charge of the island, and he _knew _what it was like to be in that position, so he'd done his best to make life as decent as he could for these brats. They always had regular food, they were sheltered in the most _normal _building possible in the insane asylum's complex, they had access to all the medical care they needed, were given the basics of an education, and staff members were carefully chosen based on their genuine desire to give a damn about the kids in their care. Dick also made sure they didn't grow up afraid, terrified of everything outside the walls—they were instructed on the dangers of the zombies, but it wasn't the only thing they knew, and they weren't jaded with realism before they were teenagers. They had _hope. _Dick was also well-known for visiting at least once a week to play with the kids, when life permitted it, and most of them adored and looked up to a kid _just like them _who could do so much. It was the Robin complex all over again, except this time it was Dick Grayson that was the role model and the hero.

Wally usually made an effort to stop by at least once himself, whenever he visited New Batcave. If things had turned out differently it wasn't hard to imagine himself landing here, and he'd have hated it. Some of the younger kids didn't know anything different—they'd only been infants or toddlers when Z-day hit—but some of the older ones could still remember their old lives and their families and understood _just _enough to know that they weren't around anymore, and that hurt to see. So he'd usually do his best to show up and entertain them for the day—and this time he brought Superboy with him.

Wally had been a little worried how introducing Superboy to the kiddies would go over, but he needn't have bothered; Connor was an instant hit, much to the clone's chagrin. Kids, Wally was reminded of yet again, had an innate sixth sense regarding people, and these apocalypse brats were no different. They instantly zeroed in on the fact that Superboy was a safe person that would protect them, were not intimidated in the least by his perpetual scowl, and were monkeying around all over him within the span of five minutes once they realized that 'Mr. Connor' was strong enough to support half of them without batting an eye. Many of them begged for shoulder rides or to be carried, awestruck by his height and strength. One little boy even begged to play 'Superman,' which had startled both Wally _and _Connor until they realized the kid didn't recognize Superboy's appearance, but rather just wanted to be held up high to pretend he was flying.

In fact, Wally soon came to realize, the weakest link was Superboy himself, who initially seemed nervous interacting with the kids, afraid of harming them accidentally. At first he handled most of the orphans like they were made out of glass and he might snap them in half without trying. Which Wally supposed was a fair enough concern, considering Connor's rather impressive car-tossing, wall-crushing, zombie-stomping super strength, and he'd never had to handle anything quite as fragile as a human child out in the wilderness. In fact, most of the fragile things he _had _handled, like rabbits for dinner or partially deflated volleyballs, _did _tend to get broken pretty fast. But the kids didn't give Connor much of a choice in the matter, and as Superboy got more used to restraining his own strength around them he also became a little more confident and _markedly _more friendly in his interaction with the little twerps.

So _that _visit ended up being even better than Wally had expected.

Another time, after one of the violent thunderstorms had blown through and damaged some of the buildings, Dick had requested their help with repairs. Wally had agreed immediately, and although Connor hadn't been too thrilled at the prospect of working with a lot of other adults and teenagers, he clearly respected Dick enough by this point to agree as well. Connor had gotten still more practice in holding back on his strength, until he appeared to be merely a particularly strong human and not a super-humanly strong partial Kryptonian. Even that strength was remarkably helpful, allowing him to assist work teams with transporting heavy stones and planks to repair workshop roofs and damaged walls, and he had enough endurance that he could still keep going long after others had taken a break—endurance believably backed up by all those muscles. In one particularly notable contribution he'd even managed to save one of the construction workers from being crushed when one of the workstations collapsed, by hearing the foundations starting to go long before human ears could, and pulling the man out of the way. A lot of the workers had praised him for his efforts and help and slapped him on the back, invited him to dine with them in the mess hall, and offered to recruit him for future projects (and better trade rewards as a result) in the future if he was ever around again.

Superboy had seemed..._perplexed_...by the entire encounter, and brought it up later, when they were having dinner privately with Dick and Roy back at the cottage. "They didn't even know who I was or _what _I was," the clone said, "but they still treated me like...I don't know. Like a hero. Just for helping build some things."

"You did also save a guy's life," Wally pointed out through a mouthful of chicken (he hoped, vindictively, that it was that rooster). "That's definitely bona fide heroism material."

"They did it before that too, though," Superboy said.

"Heroism has a different definition these days," Dick explained quietly. "Running around in capes and masks and iconic symbols, that's long gone. People aren't expecting the Justice League to show up and fix their problems anymore. But people putting their all, using all the skills and strengths they've got, to help others survive and make things better? _That's _new-age heroism."

Roy nodded in agreement. "Speedy is dead," he said flatly, "but people trust Roy Harper to protect them here. Robin is dead, but Dick Grayson keeps everybody alive. I doubt these people will ever know who the hell 'Superboy' is, but today _Connor _just proved he's dependable."

Superboy frowned at that, but it seemed more contemplative than anything else. "A different kind of hero," he murmured thoughtfully, and was almost completely silent for the rest of the night, barely engaging in any other conversations.

But eventually life moved on and the week drew closer to its end. The storms became less frequent, and although Dick checked the satellites regularly he never reported anything new and dangerous coming their way. Soon it was time to start preparing to leave. And although Wally was still impatient to get going, he was careful this time to not rush through things, knowing that a single screw up could cost him badly on the outside if he messed up.

First and most important was earning a little bit of credit for trade. Dick was his friend and in charge of the whole damn island, and therefore could _easily _pull rank and get him all the supplies he needed for free. But Dick hated abusing his power like that, and Wally would feel terrible if he essentially stole necessary supplies from these hard-working colonists, and made his friend do all the dirty work for him. So he typically traded in all his potentially-useful-to-a-settlement goods to Dick or Roy, establishing what was basically a line of credit. They could estimate how much the goods were worth, integrate them into the community and make sure everything got to its proper place, and resupply him with traveling goods without anybody feeling guilty over it, because it was legitimate business. Wally helped New Batcave, and New Batcave helped him; as win-win as a situation ever got in the apocalypse.

In this case, Wally had a _lot _more than usual to trade in, since he'd had Superboy as a traveling partner and Connor was not really limited by weight at all. He smugly handed over the batteries, hand-held tools, first aid kits, medical drugs and supplies, cans of fuel, and firearm ammunition they'd collected between Cadmus to New Batcave, and even Roy's normally impassive expression shifted to one of impressed surprise once it was all laid out.

"Think it's enough to get me supplied?" Wally asked with a smirk.

"It's enough to get six of you supplied, Walls," Dick said, poking through the goods with disbelief. "I can't believe you managed to get all of this _here._"

"Super-strength helps," Wally said, gesturing to Superboy, who snorted at his inclusion. "There's plenty of stuff _out _there, it's just hard to move unless you're traveling with a Kryptonian." He snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me, set aside some of this trade credit for Connor. I mean, he _did _do a lot of the work, so he might as well get half the benefit and put it towards whatever he wants here. A quieter dorm, maybe? Or the supplies to add an extra room here, I mean, he's pretty quiet, you'd barely notice him, not like he'd get in the way. Or maybe his own pet chicken because he likes those stupid things—"

Dick and Roy exchanged glances, and Superboy growled, "Wally, what are you going on about? I'm coming with you."

Somehow this had not actually occurred to Wally. Apparently his dumbfounded feelings extended to his face, because Dick outright laughed at him, and Roy said dryly, "You really _are _an idiot, West."

Wally glared at the two of them sullenly, and then looked over at Connor. "Uh, not that you're not welcome or anything, but I kinda figured you were staying here? Because, y'know, that's what I promised when I found you, I'd get you here so you could get some answers and figure out what you wanted to do with your life—"

"I got my answers," Superboy interrupted. "I'm still working on that other part."

"But not where civilization's at, I take it?"

"Anywhere's as good as here. Might as well follow you. Besides, I _did _promise Dick I'd keep you from doing something stupid. That's what friends do, right?" He gave Wally a pointed look. The conversation was blatantly familiar—nearly identical, in fact, to when Superboy had asked _him _back in that pod room why Wally was bothering to help him at all—and Wally knew he'd done it on purpose.

Dick smirked, and in one of his usual attempts to be as unhelpful as possible to Wally at precisely the wrong moment, said with obnoxious cheer, "He is right, he _did _promise me he'd keep you out of trouble."

"Supey? Keep _me _out of trouble? Please. I'm the one that's been getting _him _out of tough scrapes since I found him in that pod," Wally said with a scoffing tone. Inwardly, though, he was sort of touched. He'd have been lying to himself if he said he'd be fine going it solo again, after a month of having a little brother to look out for. Having a traveling companion you could trust with your life was nice; it made the endless searching and moving through terrifying, monster-infested territory a little more bearable, a little less lonely, and a little more worth living for.

But he also felt a few traces of worry, and more than a little guilt. Superboy could handle himself out in zed territory, Wally _knew _that. He'd trained Superboy for it personally, and Supey'd been a good student through all of it. But for the past month they'd been working towards a mutual goal, reaching a settlement, and Wally had been focused on getting his adopted brother to _safety. _Superboy coming with him _now _would be different. Connor would be putting his life on the line traveling for a purpose that wasn't his own, in one of the most dangerous zones for dead-head infestation. Superboy had no reason to look for _Wally's _family, but the risk would still be high—and he was doing it out of an obligation, a promise. Wally didn't want Superboy to feel _obligated _to look out for him, especially not if he had his own goals and his own rebuilding of a new life after the apocalypse to work towards. Wally would hate it if somebody stood in the way of finding his family; he didn't want to be _that guy _for Connor.

Ultimately it _was _Superboy's choice, and Wally wouldn't stop him if he wanted to come. He couldn't, anyway, even if he _had _wanted to—half-Kyrptonian only or no, Superboy could still thrash him seven ways from Sunday, tuck him under one super-shoulder, and point-blank insist he was coming anyway. But Wally was concerned all the same, enough to offer a back door out, just in case Superboy really _was _acting on an unwanted obligation.

"Well...I kinda figured you'd want to hang around this settlement specifically, since you're part of the team and all and it's the only one with confirmed heroes hanging around." He gestured to Dick and Roy before moving on. "They'd probably be a little better at helping you figure out how to adjust to all this stuff, and work out what you want to do with yourself now. But if you _really _want to come, then okay, sure. Just remember, it's gonna be really dangerous. There are a lot more zeds and a lot less safe zones, heading out west. It's totally fine if you'd rather stay here."

"I'm coming with you," Superboy repeated, very firmly. "And zeds don't scare me. Bring'em on."

Wally shook his head in exasperation. "I know they don't scare you. I wish they'd scare you _more. _You'd better remember, just because you made a dumb promise to Dick here doesn't mean _you _can take stupid risks, either!"

"I won't. I know what I'm doing." He sounded more serious than usual when he said it, and crossed his arms in determination, staring Wally down as if daring him to argue further.

Dick cut in before it could go any farther, still smirking a little in that obnoxiously smugly satisfied way. "Well," he said, "I'm not gonna lie, it would have been nice to have a Kryptonian around here to help. But hey, SB, it's your life and your choice, after all." His expression turned more serious for a moment. "Just keep each other alive, okay? I meant what I said before, I don't want to hear about any more of my friends getting themselves dead." And before Wally could address that, the smirk was back, and the youngest teen finished with, "So—supplies for two, then?"

"Yes," Connor said. "And a bigger pack for me if you've got it, then I can carry way more than before. Weight's obviously not an issue."

"That can be arranged," Dick said. The four of them spent the rest of the day compiling a list of necessary supplies for the journey, with each of them offering suggestions and bringing up valid points. With Superboy's super strength added to the mix, they were able to be a little more liberal with their supply choices, meaning they didn't have to pare everything down to bare necessities alone.

When they were finished, Roy took the list, along with a written note of permissions bearing Dick's personal seal, and handled the transactions downtown for them. Over the next two days he obtained everything they needed from supply caches and trade merchants around the island, while allowing Wally and Connor to rest up for the journey. By the time those two days were up, a large collection of dried, smoked, and other preserved foods, first aid supplies, warmer clothes, some hiking and mountain gear, blankets, hunting snares, fishing gear, swiss army knives, a compass, matches, and a dozen other things were piled in the corner of Dick's cottage, waiting to be packed away. And, true to his word, Roy had also supplied them with a package of ripe, fresh strawberries out of his own pocket, which just proved that he cared no matter how much he enjoyed imitating a scowling rock these days.

They packed everything up carefully, and when one last check of the weather satellite showed nothing but sunshine for the next week, Wally decided it was time to take off. They stayed one last night as Dick's guests, getting the last night of guaranteed solid, refreshing sleep they could, and the last filling, relatively fresh dinner. Roy woke them bright and early in the morning and offered to personally escort them down to the gates, so they could leave without any hassle.

Which left them at the most awkward part every time Wally left New Batcave: the goodbyes. Wally hated the goodbyes, because he really did enjoy Dick's and Roy's company, and for all its crowds and strict rationing and fortress-like setup it really did feel almost like a _home. _He hated leaving it and his friends behind, especially when he knew they would be worrying about him once he was outside the safety of the walls and water. But he couldn't stay, either. Until he had _answers _about his family, he couldn't stop searching for them, not even for safety or what passed for a home these days.

Dick and Roy both knew that as well, which was why they never objected to Wally's leaving when he announced he was searching again—just made sure he was as well prepared for it as he could be. Wally respected them for it, which was why it was almost harder to leave now.

"Thanks for everything, man," he said to Dick, who had insisted on being woken early enough to see them off, since he couldn't come with them to the gate. "Really. Both of you guys." And he nodded to Roy as well, who nodded silently back in his own taciturn but meaningful gesture.

"Anytime," Dick said. "I mean it. And Wally—I'd better see you back here again at some point. You'll have to report to me on that settlement, after all." Wally caught the underlying message easily: _Don't die. You're not allowed to die, got it? No matter what you find out there._

"Sure," Wally said with a grin. "I'll write a whole essay on it for you. My teachers would be jealous." _If they weren't already dead. But don't worry—I'm not going down for anything, I'll be back._

Connor hefted his own large pack easily—it was too heavy for Wally to even budge, but he still made it look like it was just stuffed with cotton—and nodded to Dick and Roy as well. "Me, too," he said after a moment. "Thanks for finding those answers for me."

Dick smirked. "Are you kidding? It was nice to have a challenge for once! And hey, if it helps somebody out from the old gang, so much the better." His grin faded and grew more serious. "Oh—but, Connor. One more thing I wanted to tell you."

Wally blinked in surprise at this; they'd been here a week, and he hadn't really been expecting much more from Dick. They'd all discussed a few old stories several nights ago, a rare moment in which talking about their dead or missing mentors and guardians wasn't considered taboo and had held more fond than bitter emotions, but they hadn't really discussed Connor's origins since. What could Dick possibly be bringing up now, as they left?

Superboy looked genuinely curious as well, and said slowly, "Yes?"

Dick seemed to pause a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. Then he said slowly, carefully, "Back when Z-day hit I managed to download a lot of the Batcomputer's files that I figured might be important, and as my system grows I've been _slowly _managing to incorporate some of that high-tech stuff back into my own original tech." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the closed and locked back room.

"Okay," Superboy said slowly, brows drawing together slightly as he tried to figure out where this was going.

Dick took a deep breath. "Back when I was Robin, we..._Batman_...had files on most of the Justice League. Nothing major, just ways to keep track of everybody, just in case of emergencies. That was one of the things I managed to download. At the time I figured it might help me get back in contact with them or...or something." _Or figure out how to stop them if something went wrong, or they got turned, _Wally heard in that momentary hesitation, but he didn't voice it out loud. "Anyway," Dick went on, "The point is, the files also had information on a lot of the League's secret identities. I've always kept from sharing them with anybody or asking around too closely for those names; it might be the apocalypse, but those heroes still have the right to their privacy. But I think in your case, you have the right to know about at least one of them, since you're basically family..."

Superboy blinked slowly, and then said suddenly, "You know Superman's secret identity."

Dick nodded. "Don't spread it around," he warned, with a quick glance at Wally and Roy, who both nodded back in understanding. "He still deserves respect, even if he...well, anyway. His name was Clark Kent. He used to work as a reporter in Metropolis before Z-day hit." He looked Superboy firmly in the eye, and added softly but with conviction, "He was a good guy, and not just because of the cape and tights. I know we're all encouraging you to make your own place in this new age, Connor, and you shouldn't have to live in his shadow—God knows that's hard, I can relate—but, just so you know, he really _would _have been proud of you."

Connor stared down at him for a very long time, and then said so softly his voice was a raspy whisper, "Thank you."

Dick nodded once almost solemnly, understanding.

Wally didn't want to leave on that note, though, so as he hefted his own pack—also stuffed full, but not nearly so heavy as his companion's—he took the opportunity to elbow Connor in the side again, and grin. "Connor Kent, huh? Has a good ring to it."

"Only because you like alliteration, _Wallace West,_" Dick said with a laugh.

"You really want to play the 'let's make fun of names' game? Because you're gonna lose that one every time, _Dick_."

"Please. Like I haven't heard it before."

"I like it," Superboy interrupted them. "Connor Kent. It feels...right."

"Good," Dick said. "Because it fits. I meant what I said—keep him out of trouble for me, okay?"

Superboy grinned. "I promise...but it might take a little work even for me."

"_Hey!_"

They laughed, and Wally scowled at them theatrically. Roy shifted forward subtly a moment later, indicating that they really needed to get moving, and they finally—if somewhat reluctantly—shifted for the door. There was one last set of shouted goodbyes, and then they were outside in the generator complex once more, leaving the former Boy Wonder behind.

Roy paused only a moment, to give instructions to the guards he trusted to keep an eye on Dick until he was back to personally handle the unofficial leader (Wally noted with distaste that Artemis was amongst them—he'd seen her around a few more times and they never seemed to get along). Then he led them relatively silently away from the complex, through the semi-permanent streets of New Batcave's grounds, and to the towering gate they had first entered by.

Superboy growled a little when they caught sight of the gate and all the guards swarming it topside; even understanding the necessity of it, he still disliked his last experience with it, and it clearly made him uncomfortable. Fortunately (and ironically), getting out of Arkham was a lot easier than getting in. There was no need for complex search procedures or dog checks. Everybody in New Batcave was already zed-free, which meant the guards just had to do a quick identity check to make sure people leaving weren't on a watch-list trying to escape, or attempting to make off with stolen necessary supplies. And with Roy with them, they wouldn't even need to deal with _that _procedure either, since Roy's word was law as far as security was concerned and all of his guards both trusted and respected him to make the right calls.

Roy stopped them before they were in ear-shot of the wall shift, though, and turned to the both of them. "Thanks," he said, and at their questioning looks he added, "For helping him out. He seemed a little happier this week than he has been in a while. I don't know what it was...knowing you were still alive," he glanced at Wally, "or learning that there still are a few miracles out there," his eyes flicked to Superboy, "but either way, thanks."

"Admit it, Roy, _you _were happy to see us too," Wally said, grinning broadly.

"Maybe I was," Roy shot back, "But you'll never catch me admitting to it." And to Wally's surprise he smirked, just barely, and for a moment he didn't look like a hardened bodyguard or a head of security, but just like a relaxed teenager joking with his friends.

"Stay alive out there," he added a moment later, and the kid was gone, replaced by the bodyguard once more. "I mean it. Dick isn't the only one getting tired of everyone disappearing on him." And before Wally or Connor could respond to that, he strode forward between them, barked an order to the wall guards, and stood impassively as the gates began to creak open.

Wally clapped Roy on the shoulder as he passed him to head for the gate. "Thanks, really," he said. "And you hang in there too, Roy, and I mean _that. _Zeds aren't the only danger these days." Superboy nodded in agreement as he too passed the bodyguard, following Wally, and after a moment Roy nodded slowly back.

"Yeah. I know."

And then the gate thudded shut behind them, leaving them with safety at their backs and a beautiful view of the broken, dead Gotham skyline ahead of them across the water. And all Wally could think was, _This is crazy, going out here again, but all the same, it feels like it's just where I belong._

* * *

Roosters are _evil. _


	11. Chapter 11

**Age of Heroes**

Part eleven of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warnings**: Zombie stuff returns in this chapter, so it may get disturbing and creepy or scary.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"Run boy run! This world is not made for you.  
Run boy run! They're trying to catch you.  
Run boy run! Running is a victory.  
Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills..."  
~_Run Boy Run, _Woodkid

* * *

Now that Wally had a specific destination in mind and renewed hope in his goal, he wanted to get moving as fast as possible. And at first, for a little while, the trip went smoothly and according to plan, just the way he'd wanted.

It started almost as soon as they left New Batcave. Kaldur had been waiting for them on the end of the dock, and informed them that Dick had contacted him to make sure he was ready to transport some passengers. Upon learning his passengers were none other than Wally and Connor, he had given them that same soft smile as before and reiterated his promise to take them where they needed to go, and not just across the water to the docks.

Wally had felt a little bad about possibly taking Kaldur away from his duties, but Kaldur insisted it wasn't anything for him to worry about, so Wally gave him a brief explanation on where he'd like to head for. Kaldur agreed immediately and guided them into the same boat as before, detouring them only long enough to find companions of his swimming in the waters, apparently off duty but preferring the ocean to the crowded island. A girl with reddish hair and a young man with a ponytail answered his call, and the three had a hasty discussion in Atlantean ("He's asking them to take his patrol shift for him until he comes back, and mentioning his promise to us," Superboy translated for Wally under his breath). Then Kaldur nodded, and the other two offered polite greetings in English for Wally's benefit, before zipping off through the water at a shocking pace back towards the dock.

Kaldur was no slouch either, and set a breakneck pace over the water with the use of his..._magic. _However he managed the trick, his little boat was at least as fast as a leisurely moving car, which was more than Wally could say for himself or even Superboy's jump-flying. A trip that _would _have taken the two of them at least a day on foot—maybe two, if the zed packs had picked up—took Kaldur an hour and a half by water. Not only that, he barely looked like he was straining when he finally pulled the boat up to the dock of some unknown town to let them off. By then they were somewhere past Captain Harbor, some thirty-five miles from New Batcave but still safely far enough away from New York City's outskirts that they wouldn't risk hordes of zeds upon landing.

"Thanks, man," Wally told the Atlantean, as Kaldur helped them out of the boat and onto the (thankfully clear) old dock. "This is...amazing. You saved us a lot of time, it means a lot."

"Think nothing of it," Kaldur answered. "I am happy to know I have been of service. All I ask is that you remain safe, and return to the island in the future. I believe humanity requires more people like yourself, if you are truly to survive this undead plague."

"No pressure or anything," Connor said dryly.

Wally laughed at that. "No offense, Kaldur, but if we're supposed to be examples of the best humanity has to offer in order to survive, then I'm thinking we're probably doomed." It was intended as a joke, but it was a little on the dark side all the same.

The Atlantean merely shrugged. "A few months ago I might have agreed," he said, sounding perfectly serious, "But these days I am not so sure. The world you live in is quite dangerous, and yet people like yourselves, or Arkham's leaders, are enough to convince me that maybe there is still a little hope yet. And if you can continue to hope, then perhaps we, too, can make a difference."

"At least somebody believes in us," Wally said, and this time his smile was more genuine. "That means a lot, coming from you, Kaldur."

The Atlantean bade them farewell and left them on the dock to continue their trek by foot. Dick had provided them with the most up-to-date maps he could manage, using satellites and scouting reports to give them a decent lay of the land, for both physical landmarks and recent zed pack sightings. Between that and Wally's own knowledge of the country from all his time traveling, he had a pretty reasonable idea of where they needed to go next, and sketched out a rough outline of his plan to Connor as they made their way out of the tiny town.

The travel plan was relatively simple at its core. The mountain range Dick had hinted there might be a settlement in was located in the southeast corner of the state of Missouri, in central United States. But it would be foolhardy to head straight there from New Batcave; even without the increased number of zombies in the center of the country, the wilderness and the mountains could be dangerous without proper preparation.

So Wally intended to aim for another settlement a little closer to their actual objective: a converted military base located in southern Illinois that he'd traveled through once, back when trying to reach Central City. It was a secure safety zone, not quite as excellently equipped as New Batcave but backed up by some military support, and was one of the few _military _colonies in central/eastern United States that still had the trust of the civilians. This was probably in a large part due to the way civilians had been integrated into the military community even _before _Z-day, and when the outbreak hit both military and civilian factions had been able to effectively function as a team to provide safety to the residents of the base.

More importantly to Wally, it was located barely a hundred miles from the mountain region, making it the closest safe zone to his objective. They'd be able to stop in and resupply before beginning the hunt. And if winter hit before they could find the mountain settlement, they'd be able to hole up in the base for the duration of it in exchange for trade or labor—colonies were always looking for willing workers.

Getting there would be trickier. Wally intended to stick to freeways and roads as often as possible for this stage of the journey. "Back when the outbreak first happened, it was best to avoid major roads whenever you could," Wally explained to Superboy, on their second day of land travel. "They were totally packed with people trying to escape to anywhere that _wasn't _infested. Better to travel on less populated roads or even cross country.

"Now, though, it's better to use the roads when you can, especially with the center of the country so badly swarming with dead heads," Wally continued. "The roads are relatively open and it's a straight shot wherever you need to go; even gives you the option to ride a bike or run without any interference. They're also open, so more warning about incoming zombies, and a lot of the high-rises and bridges will keep us out of zed territory too. We'll still have to skirt around cities and big towns, and break off the freeways for shelter and scavenging, but this'll make travel a little faster at least. Just, um...just stay away from abandoned cars. Sometimes people die and reanimate still strapped into the seats and...well...just don't go near open windows."

Wally shuddered slightly as he finished. He'd seen one or two unfortunate travelers yanked into open vehicles by reaching, pale arms, kicking and screaming; it was just another bit of nightmare fuel for his already screwed up head, those memories. Superboy, fortunately, heeded the warning, and gave plenty of notice when they approached any vehicles with sounds of movement within, letting them give the rotting cars and trucks wide berth.

Caution aside, their first two weeks of travel went smoothly—as smoothly as _any _form of travel through zombie-infested territory could go, at any rate. They crossed over Connecticut's border, passed briefly into New York state, and were well into Pennsylvania within the first week. There were still plenty of zombies everywhere, but they were easy enough to avoid, especially since they typically avoided the cities and more crowded towns and stuck to the freeways when they could. Foraging was still pretty easy at this juncture, especially with the loads of abandoned fields and orchards that they passed, letting them load up on wild fruits and vegetables. And shelter was still relatively easy to find as well, if you knew what you were doing, which the both of them did. It meant they could push for as much speed as a human (or Kryptonian) was capable of, walking for most of their daylight hours and only breaking off briefly for some minor scavenging and shelter-hunting, and Wally was pretty happy with their progress.

More rare, but not exactly unwelcome, were occasional travelers they came across that _weren't _zeds. It didn't exactly happen all that often, outside of major settlements, but there _were _other people out there just like Wally—real human beings searching around for family or news or _something _that couldn't simply let themselves be tied down to a colony. They hadn't run across any people while traveling up from D.C. to New Batcave, but then again, Wally had taken an unconventional route of backroads for the sake of trade scavenging. The freeways were still the most popular and most direct routes between settlements, or just the safest way to travel in general, which meant better chances to meet the living variety of people.

Wally had been forced to restrain Superboy (not very successfully, due to the Kryptonian's superior strength, but he figured the frantic shouting of 'no' caught his attention well enough) the first time they'd come across _humans, _before he accidentally smashed in perfectly normal people heads by mistaking them for zeds from a distance. After that Connor had learned to approach cautiously, observing small scatterings of bipedal travelers from a distance with both vision and super-hearing and determining if they were live or dead _before _attacking. And if they were real people with real heartbeats and actual body-heat, they still approached cautiously, just in case; Supey's bullet-proof body aside, Wally really didn't want an encounter with wandering bandits if he could help it. But when they were real, _and _safe, then they usually stopped briefly to chat, and Wally introduced his anti-social shadow to the fine art of post-apocalyptic travel etiquette.

When you found other travelers out on the road, you typically traded information with them, free of charge: warned them of any zed sightings or other dangers you might have passed through recently, gave them tips on good forage spots or decent shelters you might have used, and you could fully expect them to do the same to you. Ultimately, good, friendly travelers were allies. Everyone was human (relatively speaking, in Connor's case) and ultimately everyone was on the same side and all shooting for the same goal: survival. If all it took was ten minutes of sharing intel to keep your fellow human beings alive, it was worth it. Wally held nothing back as he described useful places to hide or warned of dead head packs behind them on the way to New Batcave, and he and Superboy benefited enormously from the things other travelers shared with them, often saving them hours of time when they didn't have to go searching for food or safe spots to sleep for the night. Sometimes it was possible to trade food or supplies too, if you needed something and _they _wanted something from you; you just had to be careful to keep an eye open, just in case they wanted it badly enough to do something drastic. It was typically win-win all around.

Even less common than travelers were the smaller fortified homes and communities they occasionally found along the way. These were never huge, usually consisting of anywhere from one to three families that had banded together and fortified a house or school or office building, in order to survive the zombie hordes without relying on a major reinforced colony like New Batcave. Superboy was baffled by these at first ("Why would anybody want to try to survive out here in a community, if there's a much better equipped colony like New Batcave only a week or two away?") There were a number of reasons, Wally explained. Some groups just didn't want to submit to colony leaderships or rules and regulations. Some trusted more close-knit communities of people they already knew, as opposed to the nameless, faceless masses that they didn't. Some groups were just better at planning for and maintaining zed defenses instead of offensive or evasive travel techniques, or had groups of people simply incapable of surviving traveling through zed territory for whatever reason (mostly the elderly, young kids, or people with injuries or disabilities). And some simply preferred the solitude. Whatever the reason, these groups were usually able to carve out a minor safe space in the otherwise dangerous zombie-infested world. And while not all of them managed to survive and many were wiped out over the course of a year due to attacks, infection, starvation, or sometimes infighting, many others managed to retain their little foothold and keep going strong.

They could be safe-zones for travelers as well, but Wally cautioned Superboy to always tread carefully when approaching minor settlements and communities. Even if they weren't outlaw zones—which was not always guaranteed, as Wally had explained to him before—many of them were still close-knit and followed the rules of survival of the fittest. Lots of inter-family communities looked out for themselves and their survival-mates first, and might not think twice about stealing from or even hurting or killing travelers in order to get much-needed supplies from the outside world. A typical rule of thumb, Wally had long since learned, was to only approach a settlement if he knew there were kids there—families would be more protective of them, but they were also less likely to scar their children by beating or killing a traveler for their things, and typically had a little more humanity in them due to the presence of their offspring. They were also more willing to let travelers stay for a meal and a night in exchange for labor or trade, or sometimes even combat assistance to take down small but potentially deadly packs of zeds wandering the area. Wally and Connor made use of these safe zones once or twice, although they kept eyes on their packs the entire time just to be safe, and were careful not to overstay their welcome.

But eventually all good things came to an end, and that included strings of good luck. About three and a half weeks into their travel, not long after they crossed the border into Ohio and officially slipped into central U.S. territory, things began to get _significantly _more difficult.

The east coast, Wally learned quickly in his first year and a half of new-age survival, was like Baby's First Intro to the Zombie Apocalypse. It was still dangerous, _very _dangerous, if you didn't know what you were doing—but for the most part, if you were careful, you could avoid any major swarms of zeds and survive. Central U.S. was like the hardest Hard Mode in any zombie game Wally had ever played, and there was only one life to work with and no cheat codes or shortcuts. If they screwed up, it was game over, and there was no respawning—unless, of course, it was as an undead monstrosity.

It started with a significant decrease—and then abrupt vanishing—of any and all centers of human habitation, as the travelers stopped coming and the communities became few and far between until they ceased altogether. Then came increased zed sightings, as Wally and Connor began to stumble more and more frequently across larger and larger packs of zeds, even outside of cities and large towns where one _expected _a large population of the walking dead. The increased sightings of dead heads dropped their pace significantly as they were forced to spend more and more time avoiding them, and it took longer to forage, hunt, scavenge, or search out shelters while constantly watching for and evading the walking dead. Safety, never a guaranteed thing to begin with in the apocalypse, decreased significantly as they were forced to abandon the relative protection of the freeways more and more to hunt for necessities. And when one took into account that supplies and food became significantly less frequent and far more difficult to come by, it meant that their pace slowed to an unbearable crawl as they began to spend more and more time looking for sustenance and rest and less time traveling.

Shelter was, by far, the hardest thing to obtain, and the deeper they went into heavily packed zed territory, the harder it was to find something reliable and safe that kept them protected from both the walking dead and the elements alike. Wally was glad he'd prepped Superboy for a lot of this stuff in advance, telling the clone stories and making him recite campsite rules. Because things had never been this bad when they went to New Batcave together, and Superboy had never experienced zombie attacks to quite this violent and terrifying a degree before; he wasn't sure Connor would have adapted as well has he had otherwise.

Even _with _all the preparations, they were rapidly entering some of the worst conditions Wally had ever been forced to deal with, and what followed were some of the most harrowing days and nights either of them had ever experienced. Most of that time blurred together, in Wally's mind. He mostly just remembered days of running for hours at a time, with packs of zombies trailing them unrelentingly, or nights curled up in old trees or huddled together on top of sheer boulders or broken buildings that Superboy was forced to jump them up to, places that were 'shelters' and 'safe' only in the loosest definitions of the terms. The travel was exhausting and those nights were even more so, when they rarely if ever slept and were always ready to run at the slightest noise, and even the few hours they did manage were not restful.

But other times stood out far more sharply in Wally's memory, so frighteningly and terrifyingly precise he knew he would never forget them for as long as he lived, and they would be added to the collection of nightmares always hovering in the back of his head ever since Z-day began.

There was no avoiding zeds these days, for example; they were simply too populous now to avoid, and many of their daylight hours consisted of outrunning the creatures. Dead heads could and _would _track a human for hours, if they still had their sights on you, or if they were downwind of your scent, or you were making too much noise. Wally and Connor were both fairly skilled at giving packs of zeds the slip, by breaking up their line of sight, ducking around corners, throwing off the scents, or moving as quietly as possible. But sometimes it was just impossible to shake them before the darkness hit, and seven times now—seven excruciating, terrifying, mind-screaming times, since they'd crossed into central U.S.—they'd been caught under siege for the night, as they were forced to take shelter with zeds still on their trail.

It meant huddling in their chosen second- or third-floor office building or home or abandoned store for _hours _at a time, while anywhere from ten to thirty zeds surrounded their meager shelter and battered on the walls and doors below, moaning and groaning with unrelenting regularity and without an ounce of restraint or fatigue. It meant waiting with increasing desperation for the daylight hours to come, looking almost pleadingly to the eastern horizon, waiting for the first tell-tale smudges of dusty colors to appear so that the very real nightmare could finally have a chance of ending. It meant being truly _terrified _enough to risk trying to escape from their own self-made prisons in the darkness, even though it was practically a death sentence to travel at night with zeds on their heels; zombies always, _always, _were superior when it came to hunting in the dark, and a human wouldn't stand a chance. With the age of heroes over, _they _were the night now.

The first time it had happened had been terrifying enough, when they ended up locked in a rotted-out third-floor apartment with a good thirty of the walking dead waiting below, especially since Wally had been through night-sieges before and knew what he was in for. But it was infinitely more so when he had Superboy with him, and began to realize that not even Connor's wide selection of abilities and powers were enough to save them from _this _particular nightmare.

In fact, those abilities mostly just emphasized how truly screwed they were for the next ten hours as they waited for the darkness to pass. Connor did not possess the ability to see in the dark, and his infrared vision was useless against dead, animated bodies that had no warmth, meaning he was just as blind as Wally was in the true pitch-blackness that existed in a post-apocalyptic age with no street lamps and headlights. His super-strength could let them jump-run their way out of the siege in the same way they escaped any other zed swarms, but without visuals the chances were high that he would break something (most likely Wally) with poor aim, or land smack in the middle of a pack of zeds, and the risk was too great to take. Worst of all, his super-hearing, while normally absolutely invaluable for early warnings, now proved to be a curse. He heard with intense, heightened clarity every single besieging moan, every scratch and claw and batter at the doors and walls below them, and every single quickened heartbeat or harsh breath from his own much more experienced traveling companion's own terror that Wally couldn't suppress, no matter how much he tried.

The last was what ultimately worried Wally the most. While he knew the zombies did it instinctively and without any particular intent, that drawn out moan was one of their most potent psychological weapons. Wally had seen it ruin other travelers before that were fit and skilled in every other sense of the word. It seemed a silly thing to be scared of—it was just a _noise, _after all, a silly wordless noise without curses or threats or even murderous, primal snarls. But zeds didn't _stop _making it, not when they had prey so close by. And dozens of groaning, hunting, hungry zombies moaning for several hours straight without pause had a way of getting under a person's skin and slowly driving them crazy. Especially when it attracted even _more _of the monsters and grew louder and louder as the night progressed, with _all_ of them trying to beat down the doors at the same time. Wally had, more than once, come across the remains of travelers that had simply lost it or snapped, killing themselves rather than deal with the psychological torture, or worse—taking their companions down with them, out of mercy or insanity. And he'd seen siege victims at some of the bigger settlements in the past, the ones that survived but only in the barest sense of the word, as they whimpered and sobbed and shied away from the slightest noises or movements around them, eternally caught under siege in their own minds.

_Any _kind of zombie siege was potentially deadly, and Connor, with his heightened senses, had it worse than most. Not only that, but Wally was fully aware by now that the clone _detested _feeling helpless, especially when he considered his origins. Even when becoming his own person, Connor was often absolutely convinced that, being Superman's clone, he should still be able to handle things easily that normal humans couldn't. It was a pretty terrible combination, intense psychological warfare and people who didn't want to admit they were having problems with it—those were the people that snapped first.

Wally wasn't about to let it happen, not for anything. Within the first hour of their first siege he could tell the clone was already growing more tense from the unrelenting zed moans that he could hear better than anybody else alive, and withdrawing into himself to try and deal with it, becoming stony and unresponsive. Wally refused to let him crack and challenged him into a fierce game of poker instead.

"A game," Superboy said flatly, when Wally first proposed it. "You want to play a...a game...in _this._"

"It's important to have some kind of entertainment or _something, _Supey," Wally told him seriously. "You've gotta stay sane. This stuff kills people, and I don't mean they get turned into dinner. Just try it, it'll help, I promise." _I hope. _

"I can deal with it. I don't need _help._"

"No. _Wrong. _You say that and you're already dead, Supey," Wally snapped back at him seriously. It was a mark of how much the zeds were getting to him that his own emotions were fraying, and his voice was sharper than usual. "You know how you survive this? The first step is admitting it scares the _shit _out of you. Because it does, don't lie. And then when you admit it, you stop spending all your time and energy trying to save face and man up hide it and all that crap, and you let it scare you and you tell other people that, and you get it out of your system instead of keeping it in, and you don't_ die _because you don't _snap. _Okay? Following me?"

Superboy actually looked surprised; Wally rarely raised his voice like that, or swore, or got so snappish. His usual response to all-out terror tended to be sarcasm, or just running away from it. "You're freaking out over this?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," Wally told him without a shred of hesitation, "Not that it's a secret because you can hear my heart going about sixty miles an hour, I'm sure, but any _sane _person will be freaking out too. I've been through this before, and I'm telling the truth, so trust me on this, okay? This is going to mess with your head—_don't _try to hide it and pretend it's not, that's going to be the part that kills you. I know you hate doing this but if something's really bothering you _talk _to me and I'll help, but don't bottle it up, especially when I _know _you can hear all this better than _anybody._ Okay? Promise me?"

Superboy hesitated a moment, and there was still a fierce grimace on his face, as if he didn't want to admit to weakness. But after a moment it fell away, leaving little more than an exhausted-looking teenager, and he rasped softly, "Okay. Fine. It's...bad. I can hear...a lot. I..." A very long pause, and then he finished flatly with, "It's bad."

"Okay, so let's try to distract ourselves from it, then," Wally said. "They're not getting in, we're three stories above them and you totaled the stairs. We just gotta make it until it gets light, then you can jump us out of here and we can make a run for it, okay? We'll be fine, we'll make it."

He dealt out the cards, privately wondering if maybe they could find him some earplugs or headphones later, and started the game. Superboy seemed to calm a little with the distraction, although his muscles were still clearly tense as he listened to zombie groans at the highest quality available to man. So Wally chattered incessantly about absolutely anything he could think of, hoping to maybe drown out the noises outside at least a little, or give Connor something else to focus on. It seemed to work, at least in part. By the time dawn came they were both exhausted and shaky and neither of them had slept, and Connor actually stumbled when he jumped them out of their shelter and over the heads of the zeds. But they'd made it through the night and the only thing they'd gotten out of it was nightmares. Wally considered it a success.

Over time they'd managed to work out a system for the future sieges, and Superboy slowly got used to admitting when the unrelenting moans were starting to get to him, which gave Wally a chance to distract him or give him something else to focus on. Even when they weren't talking or playing card games to keep their minds off the monsters waiting hungrily for them, Connor admitted that just being near another person, and being able to focus on a living _human _heartbeat, was a great help in anchoring his mind in reality and keeping the pressure off. Gradually the other sieges became _slightly _more bearable as they learned how to handle them. But they were never easy, they were _always _terrifying, and the two of them never slept through those nights, prompting them to escape the trapped shelters stumbling and run only long enough to shake their hunters before holing up somewhere new to rest.

And worst of all for _Wally _about those encounters was how grateful Connor always seemed to be after the fact, when they were away in the sunlight and traveling in relative safety again, and how he (awkwardly, hesitantly) thanked Wally for helping him through those particular moments. Because Wally could never help but think that, if he'd just pushed a little harder for Connor to remain behind in the safety of New Batcave with Dick and Roy, instead of dragging him along on this wild goose chase, that he wouldn't be even _dealing _with this sort of psychological punishment to begin with. Or wonder about how Superboy probably _could _have escaped the sieges, if he wasn't dragging a fragile human around after him. Connor could still potentially evade zombies with his excellent hearing, but Wally was utterly useless in the dark, and the one that would _actually _get injured if Superboy mis-aimed a jump or accidentally smashed through a wall or into a vehicle.

The guilt over that last thought only _increased _during their fourth week of travel, when he saw precisely what Connor _was _capable of in a pinch, during what was unquestionably _the _most terrifying part of the journey to date.

By then it wasn't uncommon for them to get spotted and hunted by zeds, for all their combined skills at evading the creatures, and it became a relatively regular occurrence to spend at least a few hours a day outright running from the walking dead. If they were lucky, they could shake the monsters once they were far enough away that the dead heads lost their scents or visuals, and if they were _really _lucky the hunting moans hadn't attracted more packs. It was never a pleasant experience, being hunted, but between Wally's knowledge and Connor's powers they could usually shake further pursuit after a few hours. Even when they got _un_lucky, and the zeds still had their trail by dark, they had, until now, managed to at least find shelter and buckle down for a siege.

But one particularly bad streak of luck left them still running from a pack of zeds that was swelling to dangerous size, as the zombie moans attracted more and more of the walking dead. By dusk there was a full horde of at least fifty zeds on their tails—too many to even turn and fight without a raiding party and a _lot _of guns. To make matters worse, they were caught in perhaps the _worst _terrain possible—wide-open, rolling dead fields of no-man's land that went on for miles. It was a bad place to be, because there wasn't a hint of anything that would suffice as cover or shelter. The trees were too small and gangly to be worth climbing, and a horde of determined zeds would knock them down in barely an hour. And the few buildings they had passed were dilapidated and worthless, or lacked significant height to keep unrelenting monsters at a safe distance. Worse, with the darkness rapidly approaching, it put the zeds chasing them at an advantage; in such a wide-open location the creatures would be able to see, smell, and hear them without obstructions for miles and track them for hours, while Wally and Connor were at a severe sensory disadvantage at night.

They spent that night literally running for their lives. It was one of the most terrifying things Wally had ever forced himself to do. Wally considered himself a pretty skillful runner at this point; he'd never be anything like Uncle Barry, of course, but he'd had hours of practice outrunning shuffling monsters, and he _knew _he was better than the average human. He figured that he'd be pretty damn good at marathons by now, if they actually had any these days, because he had the endurance to keep up a steady pace for _hours _at a time even in full survival gear, and still get some decent speed out of it, too. But this was beyond brutal. He and Connor were both already exhausted from a long day of travel and had _already _been trying to ditch the zeds for two hours before the sun started going down. Forcing himself to keep taking more steps—much less pushing himself at _this _pace—was grueling, and he could tell that Superboy felt the same way even _with _his Kryptonian DNA.

But worst of all, even worse than the already exhausting effort of outrunning their own walking death, was that it all happened with _night _falling.

Before Z-day, Wally had _never _realized how truly dark the night even was. Central was always bright with street lamps and car headlights and perpetually lit buildings. Even his own home had never been completely dark, with the comforting glow of his alarm clock or the dim hall light that had always been on so nobody broke a leg tripping on something during a three-AM venture to the bathroom. And if the dark ever freaked him out after an infrequent bad dream, or when he stupidly watched a scary movie or something, he could always snap on a light to make himself feel safe.

But those luxuries didn't exist in the apocalypse, and he _lived _in a scary movie now. There were no comforting hall lights, street lamps, or oncoming cars to light up the darkness. Those things were long dead. Darkness, _real _darkness, was so smothering and pitch black and impenetrable that it was terrifying on a number of levels, from the logical, higher part of his brain that _knew _what the dangers out there were and what they could do, to the innately primal level buried deep in his brain that _screamed _of Bad Things and was desperate to get back to the light and damn the costs.

It was just their bad luck that this night of all nights had to be overcast, as well, meaning even the tiniest shreds of light from the stars or the moon were denied them. So they ran, and ran, and _ran, _unable to see anything at all. Wally felt like he was trying to push for a million miles an hour with a blindfold tied over his eyes, and his head was warring with itself. The logical part shrieked at him to _slow down, slow down, slow down, if you go to fast you'll run into something or trip and break a leg or miss the signs and smack right into another pack of zeds, and then you'll be dead, _while the primal, survivalist instinct merely screamed, _run, run, run, run faster, faster, faster, stop and die, die, die! _

He picked primal, and pushed himself for everything he had, because that instinct was right: stopping meant dying. He wasn't stopping _or _dying for anything, not unless he ran so damn fast he keeled over dead from sheer force or exhaustion, whichever came first.

So they kept going, and going, and _going, _and the zeds didn't stop, just kept following them relentlessly, tirelessly, _hungrily_, kept on moaning and groaning and shuffling along behind their prey_._ Wally _hated _that sound with a passion, but it was a damn good motivator to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The terror was enough to shoot him up with another burst of adrenaline and _just keep going, _even if it hurt, even if he was so tired part of him just wanted to drop to the dirt and go to sleep, and maybe he wouldn't even be awake or conscious when the zeds started chewing on him. He wished the things would _stop, _but he knew they wouldn't. That was what made the walking dead so terrifying, their inability to feel this level of exhaustion or pain or fear, the way they could just keep going like machines until they _walked _down their dinner.

And as one hour passed, and another, Wally started to wonder if the zeds would be successful here too. The moaning had increased, and he was sure the pack had swollen to more than sixty behind and around him, even if he couldn't see a single one of the ambling zombies. There was no way to hide, and their prey was wearing down. Wally started stumbling more and more often, tripping on roots and rocks and more often than not nothing at all, his pack felt like it weighed a good ten tons and was dragging him to the earth, and he was breathing so hard he was choking on his own air. If they didn't find shelter soon, he was going to be zed food—no question about that. He'd never been so close to death before, not for all his years of surviving the apocalypse.

Ultimately, it was Superboy that was responsible for getting them through that night. Like Wally, he was exhausted, blind, and running on pure survival instinct and determination by now. He, too, stumbled and panted hard and appeared _very _aware of just how many zeds were trailing them, and how close they were to joining the pack if they didn't find a way out of this. But he had other assets to draw on that Wally didn't. His superior strength and endurance kept him going far longer, and more than once he hauled Wally to his feet again when Wally stumbled or crashed to the dirt when he tripped. And they navigated entirely by his super-hearing as they poured on the speed, relying on it more and more as the night progressed. Connor appeared to have turned it up to the max, straining to the utmost, and although it had to be torturous to listen to sixty or more zombie groans at the highest quality available, it also let him listen ahead for potential threats and cast around for echoes to avoid dangerous obstacles. Twice he hissed angrily and grabbed Wally's wrist, jerking them aside just in time for Wally to literally _feel _cold fingers brushing at his shoulder or leg. And once he had wrapped an arm around Wally's torso and launched them into the air without pausing in the run, to avoid what Connor later said he thought might have been an abandoned truck on the road.

Part of Wally, that survivalist instinct still screaming at him to keep running until he _died, _wondered why Connor didn't just abandon him in the dark. It had to be close to impossible for him to navigate by himself to begin with, much less dragging a blind, exhausted, much weaker human around behind him. Wally _knew _Connor had to be restraining himself least in part—he didn't have Superman's own impressive super speed, but his physical strength would still let him outrun any normal human easily, and yet he kept pace with Wally. It would be so _easy _for him to save himself, bolt ahead into the night, avoid dangers with his own hearing and outrun the hungry moans behind them. And Wally honestly wouldn't have blamed him if he had, even if it would have meant Wally's own death in the process; he wanted his brother to survive through anything, especially this.

But maybe that _was _the reason he stayed behind, suffered through grueling mental and physical torture alike simultaneously—because family was worth it, something that needed to be protected and gave you the strength to keep going no matter what. Wally knew that because it was the reason _he _was still going by now, even though he was so tired and scared and his throat burned and his stomach rumbled and he could barely breathe. He wasn't going to give up, but by now he wasn't going to give up _for Connor's sake, _because it was so much easier to survive and keep pushing yourself when you were doing it for somebody else running alongside you.

In the end they ran for a brutal four hours before they managed to reach what passed for _shelter _now: an abandoned single-story farmhouse that Connor was more-or-less responsible for sensing out in the dark. They couldn't hide inside of it, but the roof was mostly stable, and it had just enough height that it would deter zeds—at least long enough for them to rest and gather strength so they could flee again when the light came. Connor had to jump them up onto the roof, and it was a mark of just how worn down he was that he barely managed the ten-foot distance, and collapsed onto his side as soon as they found a sturdy portion of the roof that would hold their weight. Wally was tempted to join him, except that he was first inclined to lean over the edge of the roof and violently throw up everything in his stomach, which by this point was pretty much nothing. _Then _he collapsed onto the broken shingles and focused entirely on breathing, which was more amazing and more painful than he ever remembered before.

The zeds didn't take long to catch up to them, and within an hour the entire house was surrounded as the monsters groaned and clawed at the walls and pressed against each other in a mass of walking death. But by now the chase had turned into a siege, which was just as terrifying but at least familiar, and Wally and Connor knew how to handle it. They retreated as far into the center of the tiny roof as they safely could—ten feet was just not a comforting height with a horde of zeds surrounding you. The rest of the horrible night was spent huddling together, shaking from a combination of exhaustion and fear. All attempts at bravery and dignity were abandoned in favor of tactile comfort, and that desperate need to know that even in the pitch black there was still somebody _alive _there with them in this hellhole.

After another hour of listening to the unrelenting moans Wally attempted to convince Superboy to sleep, and even in the dark Wally _knew _the clone was giving him a dull-eyed, incredulous look, as if to ask, _sleep, with this? _But Wally was insistent, and pointed out that with well over seventy zeds surrounding them, they were going to _need _Superboy at the top of his game to get them out of there (he did not voice his guilt at shoving all the responsibility on Superboy's shoulders, but it was there, in the back of his head).

Connor eventually reluctantly agreed, but even with relatively well-planned sieges it was impossible to truly sleep, and this was a worst-case scenario if there ever was one. In the end Superboy only managed by curling up and burying his head in Wally's chest, as close as he possibly could to his companion's heartbeat, while Wally wrapped an arm around him and covered the clone's other ear with his sleeve to deaden the noise as much as he possibly could. It was awkward, both to manage physically and just in general (Wally solemnly swore that if they got out of this he was never speaking of this to _anybody, _and he was pretty sure Superboy would agree). But it worked, and Superboy managed a weak-but-viable four and a half hours of sleep while Wally kept watch before the first smudge of light bloomed in the east.

Wally had never been so excited to see the sunrise in his life, although the sight of well over a hundred zombies surrounding them had dampened the enthusiasm somewhat. By then he was _beyond _exhausted, functioning entirely on pure terror and loyalty alone. But Connor's rest had done him some good, at least, and when woken he was able to jump them with renewed energy away from the surrounding horde of zombies and down the road towards _freedom. _Then the running again, as the zeds inevitably turned to give chase. But it was daylight now, and while still horrible not nearly as terrifying, especially when they could see buildings—and potential shelter—far in the distance. During the final hour Wally had finally collapsed, unable to push himself any further and not even running on fumes anymore after no food, no sleep, and too much tension in the past twenty-four hours, and Connor had been forced to carry him. Wally didn't remember much of that, other than blacking out and waking up on the fourth floor of a worn but serviceable office building, with Connor standing guard. They were both as dead on their feet as they could be without literally being dead after that harrowing encounter, and spent two days in that office just resting, trying to build up their strength after that horrible night.

The recovery period gave Wally plenty of time to think, and that was when he _really _started to realize just how badly he was screwing things over for Connor. Because when he thought back to all the mishaps and near death experiences they'd had since beginning the journey out to central US, Wally started to realize that the vast majority of their problems were on _his _shoulders, not Connor's. The guilt from the sieges was already bad enough, and after that death run they'd forced themselves to endure it grew even more. Because as honored as he was to know Connor was there for him, and had risked everything to stick by his 'older brother' to keep him safe, the fact of the matter was Connor _would _have been much better off in that fiasco if Wally hadn't been there at all. It was nice to know he wouldn't be abandoned, that Connor had chosen to follow him to begin with instead of staying safe and sound in New Batcave, and stuck with him out of loyalty. But that made him feel _worse _about the fact that Connor was still around even when it was clearly starting to be more hazardous to him, because Wally felt like a ball and chain more than anything useful.

And it got even worse when he thought of everything else they'd been through. Because the long exhausting nights and zed chases were only part of the trip, and if he just couldn't keep up with a Kryptonian when the gloves were down and there was serious action at stake, well, he wouldn't have been all that surprised. Connor was part _Superman, _after all. But Wally was useless in pretty much every other regard, too, he was starting to realize. Before, when he'd first found Superboy and was guiding him to New Batcave, there had been an obvious division of skills—Connor had the powers and the strength, but Wally had the skills and the experience. Wally was, in essence, the brains of the operation, while Connor clearly supplied the brawn, and between the two of them they made a good team.

Except that wasn't the case anymore. Wally had been diligently teaching Superboy for weeks now, and once he'd gotten Connor over that hurdle of believing he was well nigh invincible as a superhero's clone, he'd been a quick study. Superboy learned fast, and rarely did lessons have to be repeated anymore. Wally didn't have to remind him of things habitually, and the longer they travelled, the less he had to teach at all. Superboy adapted quickly and skillfully to most survival situations, rarely needed advice for foraging or hunting or searching out safe spots, and after all those terrifying nights under siege had even developed a healthy, wary respect for the zeds and was becoming less inclined to throw himself into a fight with them for the hell of it. By now Superboy was a veteran survivalist in his own right, and had both the brains _and _the brawn to manage it solo, if he really wanted to. Wally's experience was hardly an asset anymore, making him virtually useless in that regard. And he couldn't even pull his own weight _literally _anymore—Superboy _already _carried four times what Wally did, handling the majority of their supplies, and when they had to jump-run to escape he even went so far as to carry everything, _including _Wally himself. As if it wasn't enough for him to be doing most of the other survival work, he was doing most of the _physical _work as well.

Wally felt terrible for shoving all that weight and responsibility onto Superboy's shoulders, _literally _in some cases. He was, at the barest level, forcing his adopted little brother to do almost _everything _on this trip, from handling supplies to managing their survival to getting them out of deadly scrapes. How was it any better than what Cadmus had planned for him, using him as a tool instead of a weapon? And what did Connor get out of it in return? Nothing but bad memories, horrific nightmare fuel, exhaustion, stress, and extra baggage in the form of a useless human he apparently felt obligated to escort out of a stupid promise or some belief that he _owed _him one. Wally was even horrified to discover, the longer they went, that Kryptonians could even start to deteriorate from those things the same as any human. He wasn't sure if it was Connor's partial human blood or not, but he was shocked to find that for all his Kryptonian heritage and invulnerability to nearly everything, the clone was starting to sport the same dark, near-permanent lines under his eyes that Wally knew he himself had, and Wally could have _sworn _he'd lost a little weight as well from all the running they'd done on top of not enough food.

Superboy never voiced any complaints on the matter, but Wally knew he _wouldn't, _because he still had that stupid Superman complex and figured he _ought _to be able to handle it all, and that was just wrong. And while Wally was still responsible for the occasional bit of useful but obscure apocalypse survival advice, or talking Superboy through the worst of the sieges, or attempting to be optimistic even in some of the darkest moments, he couldn't help but feel that if he'd just worked a little harder to convince Superboy to stay _behind, _he wouldn't have been forced to deal with those things to begin with because he wouldn't be here at all.

It was an infuriating and frustrating conclusion to come to, and Wally _hated _the thought that he could be holding Superboy back, or causing him more trouble when Superboy could do so well on his own. So he resolved to work harder, so he'd be as little a burden as possible. He couldn't do much in the way of the super strength or powers, but he hurled himself into their other survival necessities with newfound determination. He worked twice as hard as before to ensure they were able to scavenge or hunt up enough food, find appropriate shelters, and make it through every terrifying night by keeping watch more often so Supey could get his rest, or talk him through the bad nights as best as possible.

And for a few days, it worked. But then things got worse, _much _worse, as fate decided to screw with their heads and throw everything it had against them, throwing their life straight into the depths of hell.


	12. Chapter 12

**Age of Heroes**

Part twelve of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

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"There comes a point when you have to realize that the sum of all your blood, sweat, and tears will ultimately amount to zero."  
~_World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, _Max Brooks

* * *

It started with the storms.

It was mid-August by now, and while they had been forced to huddle inside some meager shelter for the occasional rainfall, the weather had been largely hot, sticky, and humid as they travelled. It was uncomfortable, but not unmanageable, as long as they stayed hydrated and didn't push themselves to the point of heatstroke (for Wally, anyway, since Connor was pretty much immune to the temperature). But almost five weeks into the journey, they were hit by a solid week of cold, wet, dreary weather, the kind that left a person wanting to be lazy and sleepy and hide indoors pre-Z-day and pretty much locked up all forms of movement after the apocalypse.

To make matters worse, the entire mess began with a massive thunderstorm that rushed up upon them almost out of nowhere, while they were caught out in the open. Both Superboy and Wally had seen the dark clouds rolling towards them on the horizon, and even without a pack of zeds on their heels they ran as if their lives depended on it. It hadn't done them much good, and they'd found themselves caught out in the icy downpour for nearly half an hour before they'd finally found some scattered suburbs and mostly abandoned houses they could use as potential shelter. They'd been forced to fight a few of the walking dead to get in—the streets were more populated than they would have liked, and if the circumstances hadn't been so desperate they would have avoided the area altogether.

The end result was that, by the time they were _safely _ensconced in somebody's second-floor bedroom with the stairs torn out and the walking dead now _fully _dead, they were soaked straight through to the bone. Their shelter wasn't the best, either; the windows had been shattered long ago, leaving the building drafty and cold, and parts of it had rotted, but it was the best they could get on such short notice. Connor was unaffected by the wind or the rain, but Wally shivered uncontrollably, even after he had changed into drier clothes, and they'd been forced to light a careful fire on the second floor, which inevitably attracted more zeds. The storm had cut into their planned foraging time too, meaning there was barely anything for dinner. It was a bad night, and Wally couldn't seem to get warm even when he was huddled as close as he could get to the fire and wrapped in all the blankets they had, or find sleep no matter how exhausted he was. It turned into a bad morning the next day too, when the weather remained dismal and they were still stuck indoors. The next four days were much the same, unnaturally cold for August and very dreary, barely giving them a few hours of travel time in between chilly drizzles and ear-shattering, blinding thunderstorms. Their already slow travel rate diminished to a snail's pace as they staggered forward bit by bit.

It made Wally miserable—he'd always hated the rain anyway, something about it just always killed his normally cheerful mood—but it got worse when he realized the situation was nastier than he'd originally realized. The cold and the wet, while little more than an inconvenience and an annoyance to Connor, were sapping Wally's strength. He couldn't seem to get warm anymore, no matter how much he huddled into his thick jacket that he'd traded for back at New Batcave. And between the weather, the lack of food and rest on top of grueling travel conditions, and the constant strain and tension of keeping an eye and an ear out for zeds, he realized he was steadily getting worse.

It was absolutely confirmed for him when the coughing started, part-way through the miserable week. At first he didn't think much of it, with the occasional cough here or there, but when he was still hacking a few hours later he began realizing he was actually getting _sick. _Still, it was just a cough, which was unfortunate but not the end of the world. The cold was just getting to him, that was all. It wasn't anything important, and he'd get over it just fine once the weather started warming up a little.

Superboy noticed it, inevitably—it would be hard _not _to, with his hearing—but when he asked if Wally was okay, with his normally grumpy expression drawing into a deeper frown of confusion, Wally brushed it off and insisted he was fine, just _fine. _Just a cough. Nothing special. Connor did not appear entirely convinced, but Wally knew he couldn't exactly argue, either. Supey'd never been sick after all, and Wally was well aware that medical information was _not _one of the things covered in that massive index of telepathically downloaded _stuff _in his head, meaning Connor was out of his depth on this one. Wally had never steered him wrong before, so he'd have to assume Wally was correct on this one, which let Wally bend the truth just a teensy bit. No point in worrying his companion, after all, not when Superboy _already _had to handle more than his fair share of their survival troubles on the road.

Wally _did _start to worry to himself, though, when a few more days passed and the coughing still hadn't gone away. In fact, it had gotten worse, with much deeper, dragging coughs and fits that came more often. Sometimes he felt like he was having a harder time breathing in between, too, like he couldn't get _quite _enough air. He kept his concerns to himself, but inwardly he was starting to panic, just a little. Getting sick while traveling through zed territory was _bad. _It had happened to him a few times before, and even though he'd been lucky enough to be close to major settlements and had been able to retreat for proper medical treatment, those times had still been pretty terrifying. And this was worse, far worse; they were still in no-man's land, barely across the state line into Indiana and still a good three hundred miles from the military base they were aiming for. At their current snail's pace they were still at _least _three weeks from reaching any sort of safe haven, and probably it would be even longer than that, with the number of zeds they'd seen since hitting central U.S. If he didn't start getting better soon, he was going to be in serious trouble. But without the proper medications or nutrition or a chance to rest safely for a long enough period of time, that probably wouldn't be happening any time soon.

Not good.

To Wally's immense frustration, despite trying to treat himself quietly with some aspirin from their first aid kit and being careful to drink as regularly as he could to stay hydrated, he found that his cough had still not retreated a few days later, even though the weather had shifted to becoming humid and sunny once again two days ago. Despite the newly returned heat he also found himself shivering in his jacket frequently. And it was getting harder and harder to push himself to keep up with even their usual slow traveling pace; he tired much faster than before, and sometimes by the end of a long march his legs all but collapsed underneath him, when they finally found shelter. He was getting worse, and he knew it.

More frustrating still was that by that point Superboy was _really _starting to catch on, and regarded Wally's continual insistences that he was _totally fine, dude_ with more and more skepticism. "You don't sound right," the clone observed out loud once, with his usual bluntness. "Your breathing sounds...different. You look paler, but your core body temperature looks like it's risen." The way he was squinting hard at Wally implied he was using his infrared vision to confirm that last part. Crap—if he was right then Wally was developing a fever, too. Not good.

But out loud all he said was, "We've been walking a while, I'm tired, of course I'm breathing different. And it's _hot _out, so no wonder my temp's risen."

"They've never done that before."

"Have I ever told you it's kinda weird that you're checking me out to see how hot I am? I mean, don't get me wrong, I guess I'm flattered, but keep it up and I'm gonna start getting the wrong idea about you, y'know?"

Superboy scowled at him, but didn't pursue the topic further. Wally thanked his lucky stars he could run his mouth off as easily as he did even when he was perfectly healthy, and the deflection had done the trick—this time, at least. He hoped it would hold, although he could tell that Superboy kept glancing at him when he thought Wally wasn't looking, as if surreptitiously trying to check on Wally's progress and keep an eye on him without letting on that he was. Wally grit his teeth and tried hard to ignore it.

His deflection lasted another day, as he put near super-human effort into keeping himself moving despite being as drained as he was, choking his coughs down, and fighting back unnatural shivers in the late-August heat. Unfortunately for him, the arrival of yet another pack of zeds in the afternoon, the inevitable precursor to several hours of grueling running, dodging, and evading, finally exposed his secret in full to his traveling companion. They'd barely been pushing themselves for twenty minutes, it was broad daylight, and they were a comfortable distance from the zeds trailing them, with reasonable probability that they'd be able to ditch the walking dead safely before nightfall—in other words, superb conditions for this neck of the woods. So there was really no excuse for Wally to be breathing as hard as he was, especially when he'd proven he could run for hours with no trouble in the past. And there was _no _avoiding the way he crashed to the pavement and could not make his watery, weak limbs push himself up again.

Superboy actually jogged a good ten paces ahead before he even realized Wally was no longer behind him, and shot back to him with a frown on his face, which deepened when he caught sight of Wally's pretty terrible attempts to haul himself to his feet. The zeds were safely far enough back that Connor actually _paused _to cross his arms angrily over his chest and glare down at Wally as he stood over the fallen teen.

"Don't give me that look," Wally rasped at him, although speaking was difficult at this point, when breathing was practically impossible. "Just help me up or something, must've twisted my leg, I can manage from there—"

"You're a terrible liar," Superboy growled at him—it was that same warning tone he typically took right before smashing a zed's head to paste, or when sizing up a potential threat. Wally had never had it focused on _him _before, and his attempts to rise fell still in surprise. Before he could regain his voice, Connor hauled him up completely, carrying him the same way he did when he jump-ran them anywhere, and snapped, "I _knew _something was wrong with you!"

Wally tried to protest, but Superboy's glare was vicious—even scarier than that look _Dick _gave him when Wally was about to do something monumentally stupid, and Dick reportedly emulated the infamous Bat-glare remarkably well. So he snapped his mouth shut meekly, and didn't protest when Connor began running again, this time carrying him. He felt too tired and too weak to fight back anyway, and there was certainly no way he'd win out against Kryptonian strength. But that didn't stop him from feeling guilty any, as something dark and heavy rolled around in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he'd screwed up yet again, and Superboy was paying the price for it, forced to cover for both himself _and _Wally and risking himself in the process. As if he wasn't already enough of a burden as it was—now he was _literally _weighing Connor down!

The guilt only increased when Wally realized that, even _without _using Superboy's jump-runs—which were typically too loud to use unless they were desperate, by now—they were still moving at a remarkable pace, faster than usual. It only confirmed Connor always _had _been holding back on himself to keep pace with Wally. Connor outpaced the zeds with a speed so impressive it made Wally dizzy—or maybe that was just the illness manifesting. Either way his head was spinning when Connor set him down an hour and a half later, in a small town that the clone had clearly judged to be devoid of zeds. He staggered for a moment when his feet touched ground again, with Connor holding him steady by the shoulders until he could stand under his own power.

"You're sick," Superboy said flatly.

Wally was about to argue that he wasn't, but Superboy gave him that same _I can break you in half and we both know it so you'd better tell the truth _look, and he sighed. "Okay fine, I'm a _little _sick."

"You collapsed."

"I'm just tired! It's fine. I'll be fine." Another spectacular coughing fit arrived at the worse possible moment, completely destroying his argument as he bent over and valiantly attempted to hack up a full lung.

"You haven't been fine for days. You're getting _worse,_" Connor said, sounding accusing, as he hovered nearby. He looked like he was preparing to catch Wally again if he collapsed after that fit.

"These just aren't very good conditions for getting better, okay?" Wally said, fighting to keep the defensiveness (and more hacking) out of his voice and substituting it for placating. Connor didn't like the unknown and he didn't like things he couldn't fight, and it tended to make him aggressive when he came up against them. It would be a bad idea to trigger that aggression, verbal or otherwise, so best to take a more honest route now. "I'll be fine when we get to the settlement. They should have better medicine there and we'll be able to rest. That's all I need."

Superboy did not look particularly appeased by this, but said, "Fine. Let's find something to eat and look for shelter."

"Supey, it's barely four in the afternoon," Wally said disbelievingly. "We can still push for another couple of hours before it starts getting darker."

But Connor shook his head, and said firmly, "No. This place is safe. We don't know if there will be safe places ahead, and you can't keep moving like this anyway today, especially if there are more packs of dead heads down the road. A run like that one we had before will definitely make you worse. And a siege won't help either."

Wally grit his teeth. Connor had a perfectly valid, practical point, and he _could _use the rest, and the food. It might even help his current condition. But it would also cut out valuable hours of travel time, and he didn't want to hold Connor up like this, not in the middle of no-man's land when they were getting closer to safety. That dark, twisting ball of guilt in his stomach grew a little more, but Connor clearly was not taking no for an answer and he was more stubborn than a bull when he dug in his heels, so finally Wally just nodded in agreement. "Okay."

Wally figured that giving in to Superboy's demands would be enough to placate him for the moment. But apparently it wasn't enough to ease Superboy's worries, because when they started scavenging in the town to look for something edible Supey decided to follow him. Normally in a location like this, deemed zed-free by Connor, they tended to split up—it was extremely difficult to find anything of use or value, these days, but splitting up usually increased their chances of finding enough to eat. They usually set up a meeting point and returned within a certain time. If for whatever reason they came across unexpected trouble, both were good enough to escape from it, and Supey was still within hearing distance if Wally got in over his head, so he could always call for help.

But this time Connor abandoned the practice entirely, and stayed within viewing distance of Wally the entire time as they hunted through buildings and the town outskirts for anything edible. And that was when Wally first started to realize that Connor was not just angry at him for attempting to conceal his illness, but _worried _about him too, and sticking close so he'd be able to help right away if he had to.

Wally wasn't really sure _what _to think about that. Part of him was relieved to have somebody there that actually _cared _about what happened to him, and _very _happy to know he had a freaking _Kryptonian _playing guardian angel, because pretty much nothing was more badass than _Superboy _at this point. The rest of him just felt guilty, awkward, and more than a little insulted at the prospect of needing a babysitter after figuring out how to survive on his own for over _four years _now.

Still, by the end of the scavenging session Wally supposed he couldn't really blame Superboy for hovering nearby, because he'd been pretty useless and spent most of his time coughing and wobbling around on exhausted legs and waiting for the world to stop spinning. In the rare instance that he found anything at all, Superboy was forced to actually collect it, because Wally found himself curiously uncoordinated, unable to break into cabinets, dig through shelves, or climb the apple tree in somebody's backyard for wild produce. By the time an hour had passed they'd managed to scrounge up enough food for the both of them, barely, and Superboy carried it while quietly keeping his free hand curled around Wally's upper arm, half leading and half holding him up as they made their way to a safe building that Connor had spotted.

Wally's head felt foggy and thick by that point; he was exhausted and still cold and his throat hurt from coughing too much, and he barely even noticed when Connor seized him around the chest long enough to leap them up on top of a fire escape. The door had been locked, but that was no deterrence to Connor, and soon the lock didn't exist anymore (nor did the doorknob). Wally idly found himself wondering about how breaking and entering had become so easy and whether or not they would have been master criminals if the world hadn't basically ended, and it took him a second to realize that he was laying on the floor; he hadn't even realized Connor put him down.

"You should eat something," Connor told him curtly, "And then you should rest." Wally blinked when he realized the clone was crouched in front of him, looking a little concerned. He'd also put some of the dried rations and one of the four good, non-rotting apples they'd found down in front of Wally, as well as his water bottle, and the smell was so heavenly Wally wasn't about to argue with that first part. He sat up, still a little dizzy, and began making his way through his share of tonight's scavenged meal, although not nearly as fast as he usually did. Connor sat across from him and quietly ate his own half, although he never took his eyes of Wally for a moment.

"Sleep," Connor repeated, when Wally had finished what passed for dinner.

But Wally shook his head. "No way," he muttered. He _was _exhausted, and his head felt muddled and slow because of it and the illness combined, but he wasn't about to be babied—_or _cut out of doing his half of the work. "My turn for first watch, 'member? _You _sleep first, Supey, you've been doing more today anyway."

"I'm not tired," Superboy countered.

"Well neither am I," Wally bluffed.

Connor snorted. "Liar," he shot back. "You can barely stay awake. I can hear you slowing down. And you're sick. I take first watch." And when Wally looked about to protest, he added, "I'll wake you later."

Wally grit his teeth at that, but Connor was being stubborn again, and it was hard to make him do _anything _he didn't want to even on a good day, which this was not. "Fine," he agreed finally, "But you'd really _better _wake me, okay? This is a joint effort."

"Sure," Connor said, and dug through one of the packs, pulling out both of the blankets and tossing them in Wally's direction. "Now _sleep._ I'll keep an ear out for zeds." Wally didn't argue further; he was already halfway gone as it was, and a little bit of rest _would _do him wonders. He dragged the blankets around himself (still not quite warm enough, and he shivered, but at least it was a little better) and slipped into a fitful sleep. It wasn't perfect, and he spent most of it tossing and turning, coughing, and shivering, but it had some effect, at least.

When he woke again he felt marginally better, his head was a bit clearer, and while he figured he wouldn't be running any marathons in the near future at least his limbs could support his own weight. Then he realized he was seeing the first smudges of light on the horizon as dawn approached, and turned to give Superboy an accusing stare. "You said you would wake me to swap watch!"

"I lied," Superboy said flatly, without a trace of regret. The lines under his eyes were a little darker than usual, but besides that he didn't look or sound all that different from before.

"You were supposed to switch with me!" Wally said in frustration, pausing long enough to cough again. "You need the rest too, Supey!"

"Tough. I didn't, and you need it more," Connor answered. He didn't even sound _angry, _which was the weirdest part; his eyes were narrowed, but he sounded more unyielding with a trace of concern than anything else.

"I'm not the one that has to get us out of tough spots—"

"Are we in a tough spot right now? No," Connor interrupted. "It's been zed-free all night. And when we _are _in tough spots, what do you tell me? We need me at the top of my game to escape. Well we need _you _at the top of your game too so you can make it to the base. I'm fine. And now you're looking a little better."

"Supey, really, you don't need to go and stay up all night on my account—"

"_Yeah _I do," Connor shot back, and now there _was _a little bit of anger in his tone. "I promised I'd look out for you, remember? You want me to explain to Dick that I let you run yourself to ground 'cause you were too stubborn to admit you were sick and had to take it easy? You know he'd never forgive either of us for that. Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "he's _Batman's _former protege, how much you want to bet he's still got Kryptonite hidden away somewhere? I'm not taking that bet."

His smirk at the end, and the grim half-hearted joke, was really not enough to deter Wally's concerns. He grit his teeth, and admitted grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. I do feel a little better, at least." But inwardly he was becoming more and more frustrated with that stupid promise. He hoped Superboy didn't take it _too _seriously—he didn't want Superboy putting himself in danger or making _himself _sick, trying to protect a much weaker human. This was already bad enough.

The rest did help a little bit, at least—that much Wally hadn't lied about. He was able to keep going for another few hours without any assistance, despite Superboy watching him like a hawk. But by mid-afternoon he was starting to lag again, with his coughing fits growing worse once more, and his shivering increasing. Connor did not seem happy to see this; he'd probably been hoping a single night of rest would help more than it had. Wally hardly wanted to disappoint, but it was difficult to keep himself going independently. After a while he was forced to lean on Superboy for support as they walked, and he was barely on his feet at all by the time they reached another abandoned suburban complex in the late afternoon.

He hadn't even realized how badly he was holding onto awareness until he realized it was darker, and Superboy was carrying him up the stairs in somebody's abandoned house, and setting him down on one of the dusty but mostly intact beds still upstairs. He tried to ask what the hell was going on, but his coughing started up again, and it was difficult to breathe, so Connor told him to shut up for a moment. The clone set down their packs and vanished, and for one horrible moment Wally was actually pretty convinced the clone was finally abandoning him. But then he heard a lot of thudding and banging, and the floor shook slightly, and Wally registered rather distantly that Superboy was ripping out the stairs, making the second floor impossible to reach without jumping or climbing—things zeds didn't do.

The clone returned minutes later, and crouched down next to the mattress, pulling their blankets out of the packs again and tossing them over Wally's shivering form. "I'm gonna go scavenge," he told the sick teen. "I'll stay close, so if something happens, yell, okay? I'll hear it. Otherwise, just rest. I'll be back."

Wally blinked in surprise. "What?" he said intelligently, coughed hard, and then followed up with, "Wait, Supey, you shouldn't go by yourself, I'll come with you—"

"No way," Connor vetoed firmly, and when Wally attempted to roll out of the makeshift bed anyway and stumble to his feet, it was child's play for the super-strong clone to splay one hand out on Wally's chest and hold him down. "You're sick. Stay here. I'll know if you leave, and you know it. _Rest. _I'll find something for us to eat and be back."

Wally couldn't have argued if he tried; he could hardly talk without hacking by now, and it wasn't like he could compete with Connor's strength. He nodded tiredly and added, "Stay safe."

"Sure." And Connor was gone.

Wally hadn't even realized he'd dropped off to sleep until he felt himself being shaken awake. It was some time later, and he only knew that because the last vestiges of light were vanishing out the bedroom window. He blinked blearily, and could just barely make out Connor's face in the gloom, hovering over him.

"Need to eat," the clone said. "I didn't find much, but we've got some left over from yesterday too. Then you can go back to sleep."

"Need to watch," Wally muttered tiredly.

"No. You're sleeping."

"You can't stay up two nights in a row on top of all this," Wally protested, finding himself waking a little more at the thought. "It's not good for _you _either!"

"I know," Connor said. "I did a quick patrol around the area. This place is small, I haven't seen any signs of zeds recently, and it seems safe enough. I also gutted the bottom of this house and ripped out anything that would let zeds get up here, so it should be safe. Even if they _do _show up I'll hear them long before they get to us, and I can be up in time to keep watch. So we'll both rest tonight."

"I can keep watch—"

"No you can't. Now eat up." He left no room for argument, and Wally, in between muttering and coughing, downed his meager dinner and flopped back down on the mattress. Sleep came for him quickly again, and the last thing he was aware of was Connor stepping around the bed and settling down sitting upright near the window.

All he could think to that was _huh...that sleeping standing up thing is coming in useful, after all. _Then it was dark and he sunk down into another fitful but slightly relieving rest.

Travel after that fell into much the same pattern. Wally would wake up a little more refreshed than the previous day, and spent the first few hours of their journeying moving under his own power. But inevitably his strength would be sapped away before too long, and he would be forced to lean on Superboy for the support, or stop for rest breaks. When they were caught by zeds, still far too often for their tastes, Connor didn't even bother to ask anymore before scooping Wally up and bolting. Disgusted as he was to admit it, Wally had to agree it was the right choice—he just didn't have it in him to outrun even the _walking _dead anymore.

Connor would inevitably halt their progress long before dusk, usually whenever he found the first relatively safe structure to act as a shelter. He would modify until it was safe enough for him to leave Wally there to rest while he hunted down supplies and scouted the area for zombies. Sometimes he would come back looking grim but satisfied, which inevitably meant he had smashed in a few zed heads, and sometimes he'd return looking more concerned, collect Wally, and leave while the going was still good for the both of them. They'd find another shelter, rinse, and repeat. Sometimes if the place was relatively safe they'd both rest for the night; if it seemed more dangerous Connor would usually stay up to keep watch, for all Wally's protests to the contrary and insistences that he should help.

Wally hated every minute of it. Most of it was largely because being sick in general was miserable, and being sick during the apocalypse in no-man's land was infinitely more so. But there was more to it than that, because the longer the pattern held, the worse Wally felt in ways that had nothing at all to do with his illness. If he'd been useless before, he was absolutely dead weight now, sometimes even literally when Superboy was forced to carry him to their next destination or away from hunting zombies. He was too weak to participate in foraging and hunting and scavenging anymore, forcing Connor to leave him behind in relatively secure locations for longer and longer periods of time, as he struggled by himself to find the necessary food and supplies they required in a place that was _already _fairly barren of anything useful. That also cut into their travel time, when Connor had to do all the hunting and searching on his own, and Wally was _already _slowing them down simply by being sick and unable to move quickly, meaning they were barely moving at all by this point. And sometimes when the weather got worse—another day of storms, or passing rain-showers—they couldn't afford to move at all, because Wally would _certainly _get worse if exposed again to the rain and the cold. It meant they were locked up in a makeshift shelter for another day without moving, while the surrounding area had already been picked clean of anything useful.

And as if that wasn't horrifying enough, it had been like a super-powered punch to the gut when Wally discovered, five days after Connor confronted him about his illness, that sometimes the clone hadn't even been able to find enough food for the both of them, in which case he gave it all to Wally because Wally was sick and he wasn't. He neatly deflected Wally's frantic, cough-interspersed questions and accusations over the matter with unrepentant, unconcerned responses like "I'm not hungry" or "I already ate" or "I don't need it anyway." But Wally couldn't help but feel like he was stealing all the same, even if he had no choice in the matter.

The worst of it all was, for all of Connor's efforts, despite taking on _all _of their responsibilities and sacrificing some of his own needs in the process, Wally still wasn't getting better; he was certainly getting worse. His coughing increased, as did the shortness of breath when he wasn't, and lately when he tried to take deeper breaths there was a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest that left him aching and curling up on himself. His shaking increased, and he was nearly always chilly, but frequently found himself sweating at the same time. When asked, Superboy reported grimly that his body temperature appeared to have risen further, which meant that his fever had likely gotten worse. He sometimes got nasty headaches, which were only slightly relieved with the aspirin in the first aid kit. He was almost always tired now, even after resting for hours, and his strength drained away even faster than before when they had to start traveling again, to the point when Superboy was spending more and more time carrying him and less and less time just helping him walk.

Wally couldn't claim to be an expert on illnesses, but he had once been a huge science buff back in the day, and illness and medicine was just another aspect of biology and chemistry. When his mind was feeling less hazy and he was able to focus better, he tried to diagnose himself. He knew he'd gone far beyond just a common cold, but he wasn't showing flu symptoms either. Most of his current symptoms were suspiciously in line with pneumonia, which sent a chill that was not related at all to his fever up his spine when he finally realized it. If he _was _dealing with pneumonia, he was pretty sure he was screwed. Back before Z-day, simple cases could be easily treated with rest, regular fluids, simple analgesics, and oral antibiotics, while more dangerous cases would require hospitalization and stronger antibiotics, sometimes intravenously. Unfortunately for Wally, none of these things were available; rest and regular fluids were hard to come by when zeds were beating down your door every day, his aspirin was doing nothing at all for him, and antibiotics were frequently hard to get access to in fully established colonies, let alone in no-man's land. And pneumonia had been a notable killer even _before _Z-day, when people still had regular access to medications and hospitals.

For the first time Wally began to wonder if he was going to walk away from this at all. Statistically speaking his chances were extremely poor, which was not a comforting thought. But he kept his observations and thoughts to himself, at least for the moment, and tried his hardest to recover, resting when Superboy told him to, drinking often, and trying to reserve his strength for the journey. For all his guilt and frustration at causing Connor so much trouble, he very much did _not _want to die. He'd promised himself he was going to live through _anything _and _everything _until he found his family again, and he had a hint now, a goal that they were moving towards, and he couldn't give up on that, no matter _how _much it hurt to do so. So he held on with everything he had, struggled to keep going, to fight, to keep breathing for one more day with Superboy's help.

But two weeks after Superboy had cornered him about being ill, two weeks of slow travel and poor conditions and a steadily deteriorating body, Wally started to realize he was in deep trouble. They had been forced to skirt around the heavily infested Indianapolis, a detour that had taken a heavy toll on Wally's already badly weakened body, and they were still over one hundred and fifty miles out from the base they were making for, while barely making fifteen to twenty miles a day in travel time if they were _lucky. _He was trying, he really was, but it was too much strain for Wally to handle, apparently, because his condition fell still further. His appetite dropped significantly, and he could barely force himself to eat anything Superboy managed to find for them anymore, no matter how much the clone coaxed, insisted, and outright ordered him to do so. It was all he could do to force himself to keep drinking, now, which Wally knew was a _very _bad sign, because he had to stay hydrated to get through this.

Except, Wally was starting to realize with the dull, hazy mentality of somebody truly ill, he probably _wasn't _going to get through this, not anymore.

It was a painful realization to come to, but it was, unfortunately, the truth. Wally was an optimist, but he was also a born scientist, and he could add up the facts as well as anybody. They were miles away from any _chance _of any form of medical treatment, moving too slowly to make a difference, and he was falling apart too rapidly to hope to reach help in time. He didn't want to give up, he wanted to keep fighting hard to survive, because he _had _to get back to mom and dad and Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry, but he doubted he was going to make it that far. He _already _wouldn't have made it as far as he _had, _if not for Superboy.

And Superboy...Superboy was family too, no matter what the circumstances of their meeting were. Wally wanted to survive for him too, but the fact of the matter was, the harder he fought to hang on, the worse he made things for his adoptive brother. Connor was _already _doing too much to try and help him: running himself ragged to provide for a sick, useless kid, starving and depriving himself of rest in order to give those scraps of food and sleep to Wally, risking his life in solo fights against packs of zeds to try and make their campsites safer so there wouldn't be as much risk to his sick companion. It was a show of incredible loyalty and it was truly touching that the clone was fighting so hard for him, but it was also _wrong. _If he kept this up he was going to wear himself thin, exhaust himself, make a rookie mistake when he wasn't watching his back because he was watching Wally's. And when that happened he was going to get himself killed, all over Wally's dead weight.

And Wally was not okay with that. It should never have happened this way. _He _was the one that had promised to look out for _Connor, _back when he'd found him abandoned and blind to the world in that pod. _He _was the one that was supposed to reassure Connor, teach him the ropes, encourage his personal goals and help him reach them. He _shouldn't _be causing Connor this much grief, this much trouble, be this _useless_. Most of all, he didn't want Connor wasting his life, still so incredibly short and with so much potential in the future, on _him_, not when it was clear Wally was never even going to reach the end of the trip. Connor still had options, was strong enough to survive and carve a new place for himself in this world, and could do practically anything he wanted now with his skills and powers and survivalist knowledge; it was a crime to chain him to a corpse with an obligation and the very real risk of becoming a corpse himself. It was cruel and selfish and _wrong _to ask that of Connor at this point, not something a big brother should ever do.

And he still remembered his role as older brother, blood or not. Connor was still family, and as much as he wanted to find his parents and his aunt and uncle, he had to protect Connor too. At _any_ cost.

He figured they'd understand. They'd be sad, but they'd understand, he was sure. And hey, they wouldn't fault him for at least_ trying,_ right? He'd done his best; it just wasn't enough. Now he had to act fast to protect the last family member he had close to him before he didn't have the option at all anymore. They'd get it. They would.

He tried the subtle approach first...as subtle as he could get when his head felt cloudy and talking—_breathing_—hurt. By now Wally had accepted the fact that he was not going to make it to help before he died, and had been perfectly aware of the very high probability for the past two days. But he'd yet to voice his thoughts to Connor, and he doubted the clone was on the same page as him. Connor knew he was sick, and badly enough to be concerned, but Wally didn't think he knew the extent of it, still. Which was why he knew he _had _to do something, break the chain before it was too late. Because he knew he was screwed, and for all his powers and skills Superboy couldn't ever hope to save him, but Connor would keep _trying _stubbornly, and Wally couldn't let him risk himself on a person already irreversibly marked for death.

So he tried to broach the subject one night, when Superboy had managed to find a four-story business building that was still pretty solid, enough that they could safely light a fire in one of the top floors without major risk of attracting zeds. Wally was curled as close to it as he could get without actually being _in _the fire, wrapped in everything they could possibly find to keep him warm, and yet he still couldn't banish the chill that felt like it stabbed down into his bones, and shivered hard. Connor watched him in concern after another failed attempt to get Wally to eat, refusing to touch the rations he'd set aside for the sick teen despite Wally's insistence that he not let it go to waste. It was the sight of the dark lines under Connor's eyes and the way his clothes hung on him more than they used to that finally prompted Wally to speak.

"I'm not...I'm not doing so good, Supey."

Connor frowned at him as the words prompted a new bout of coughing, and growled, "Stop talking, it makes you worse."

" 'm really sick," Wally said, ignoring the clone's orders. "Like..._real _sick."

"I noticed. Stop talking so you get better. Also, sleep."

"I don't think it's gonna help any..."

Something in his tone must have unsettled Superboy, because his eyes narrowed, and he said more ferociously, "It will if you'd actually _try _sleeping. Stop talking." There was an unvoiced but painfully loud _like this _tacked on to the end, and Wally was aware enough to realize Connor knew what he was getting at.

Wally fell silent for a few moments. Connor seemed to think he'd had enough of the discussion, and the tension was just starting to leave the clone's shoulders again, when Wally tried one more time, fighting to get the words out in between the coughs and sharp pains in his chest. "I...Supey...you know you don't..._owe _me anything, for getting you out of that pod...right?"

Connor frowned at him again, and cocked his head slightly in that way that Wally had long since learned meant he was listening to something no human would ever be able to hear. His expression shifted to something more concerned a moment later as Wally continued to try hacking his organs out, and he said softly, in the most reassuring tone he could manage, "Just get some rest, Wally. We can talk about this later. Just...just sleep."

Wally _felt _everything inside of himself go dull and numb at the answer. He knew a deflection when he heard it, and Connor hadn't answered his question at all. His worst fears were confirmed...Connor was going to stick with him, out of some sort of obligation to Wally reinforced by a stupid promise to Dick, even if it was for a pointless cause, even if it _killed _him. He couldn't let it happen, but subtle was clearly not going to cut it.

He had to get serious.

Wally knew what he had to do now, but with so little energy and with it so hard to focus, it was difficult to come up with _how _to do it. Still, he gave it a lot of careful thought, as much as he could when he wasn't coughing hard or focusing on breathing or putting one foot in front of another for the short amounts of time he could move under his own power. It would be difficult to get anything past Superboy with all his powers, which meant he had to do it carefully and right the first time, and he had to wait for just the right opportunity.

Fortunately for him—because Wally wasn't sure how much longer he could hold his strength together enough _to _wait for an opportunity—the chance came two days later, in the middle of another heavy storm. Superboy had been forced to retreat barely at noon when the downpour hit them out of nowhere, hauling Wally with him off the freeway at the first available exit into some town's industrial district. They hid away inside an old factory's second floor that Connor had deemed safe for the moment, waiting out the storm while Superboy dutifully built up a fire to dry Wally and try to get him warm again. But when the rain still hadn't passed hours later and the lightning still flashed and the thunder rolled in the distance, Connor was finally forced to admit they'd be spending the night in that town—which meant he had his usual share of work to do, to prepare it for their stay. He checked one last time to make sure Wally was as comfortable and safe as possible before heading out into the wet and the cold that he was impervious to for scavenging and a quick zed-check patrol.

And that was precisely the moment Wally had been waiting for.

He'd known he'd have to do this for days now, but the hardest part had been figuring out how to circumvent Connor's super-hearing, which he nearly always kept fine-tuned these days to listen for sounds of danger or distress back wherever he'd left Wally. Which was clever and all, except it also meant he could listen in if Wally tried to do anything stupid, and come back to put a stop to it—and Wally knew he wouldn't hesitate to do so, either, if he thought Wally was risking himself.

But the storm and the rain would interfere with his hearing, and hopefully give Wally just enough cover that he needed.

He hauled himself to his feet through sheer willpower more than anything else. Fortunately, the early retreat at noon meant Wally had been resting for a few hours already, so he'd been able to recover some of his pitifully limited strength back. It would be enough. Moving as quickly as he could, he shuffled through his pack, pulling out most of the supplies and leaving anything behind that Connor would need for travel in the future. He kept only a few things for himself—flashlight, his water bottle, one of the blankets, and the crowbar, because he knew he was going to be dead soon but he'd be damned if he was going to die by zombie bite, and he still intended to go down fighting if it came to that.

And he left.

He felt bad about it, really. Part of it felt like Wally was running away, and while he always had an affinity for running and found no shame in hauling ass from a horde of zeds, it felt almost like a betrayal to abandon Superboy. Especially since Connor had been a great friend and better family; he'd come to enjoy Superboy's company, silent and grumpy though it frequently was, and the past few months up until his illness had been some of the best since Z-day hit.

But it was better this way. Of that, Wally was certain. He wasn't afraid that he was abandoning Connor to a bad fate; Connor had proven these past few weeks that he was strong, capable, and smart enough to survive on his own. And he'd do it even better when he didn't have to keep slowly sacrificing himself for a dying human. At this point the only thing Wally was doing for Superboy was holding him back, from his full potential, his own health, and his goals. If Wally just removed himself from the equation, everything would get instantly better for Connor, and the clone would be okay again. He wouldn't let his little brother waste away on _his _account.

Superboy would try to stop him, of course, which was why Wally had waited for the perfect opportunity to leave. But Wally wasn't as worried about once he got away. His recent memories and mind were misty, but he knew he'd expressed his knowledge that he was too sick to make it, and he knew Superboy had understood. And he'd repeatedly stressed, in all his lessons, the survivalist policy of the human race, how it had ultimately degenerated to 'every man for himself.' Supey had been a good learner; Wally was sure he'd pick up on this lesson, too. As soon as Wally was out of sight he ought to be out of mind as well, and if he was _smart _Connor wouldn't bother looking for him because there was no point looking for a dying kid in a world where more things were dead than alive these days. And without Wally there to distract him he could start to focus on his _own _life again, without feeling like he owed Wally anything. It was morbid logic, but all of it made just the perfect amount of sense to Wally's sickly, tired mind, so much sense it was tragically beautiful.

He wondered if Connor would get it. If he'd understand Wally's reasoning. If he'd know Wally was just trying to protect _him. _But ultimately it didn't matter, as long as it worked. If it worked, Wally could, and would, die happy.

"Sorry, bro," he coughed under his breath. "S'been nice knowing you. Really."

And he didn't look back.

* * *

Remember when I said I couldn't post the full prompt because _spoilers? _Well, now I can post the full prompt. It went as follows:

_Wally lives in a world were surviving is all that matters. He has been alone seace the out break started while he was a road trip by himself a year ago, now his only reason to live is to find his family and friends. That is tell one day when he searching through a place called 'Cambas' for supplies when he stumbles onto a teenager in a pod. Wally lets him out and ends up promising him the moon. Superboy quickly becomes attached to the red head, the same can be said for Wally. So when Wally finds himself coming down with a bad fever he runs away because he thinks he's holding the other boy back. Superboy is not happy with this, at all. So he goes off to find his sorry butt. _

Yup.


	13. Chapter 13

**Age of Heroes**

Part thirteen of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warnings**: Some zombies at the end; mostly nothing bad though.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind,  
I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time.  
But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon—  
I feel there's nothing I can do..."  
~_Kryptonite, _3 Doors Down

* * *

It didn't matter how long Superboy lived in this new variation of the world, and it didn't matter how much he learned about it. Every day he spent living through the apocalypse was just another reminder of how fundamentally out of place he was, and how he ultimately did not belong here or fit in here at all. And while he was learning to adjust, he couldn't help but wonder if his predecessor, his..._father..._had ever felt the same way, trying to fit into a world that was not even really his.

Still, he was trying, and as confusing and frustrating and horrifying as this new world and its new rules could occasionally be, Superboy found he was gradually coming to understand it better. This wasn't the world he had been made for, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a part of it. He learned the laws of survival. He learned to appreciate and hold on to the little moments of happiness. Most importantly he learned to cherish the relationships he'd collected with his human friends, respect them for their strengths and experiences and emotions, and learned to put just as much value on his human side as his Kryptonian one.

But there were still days, and moments, and little things, that reminded him of that disconnect. That no matter how close he grew to the people around him, how much better he got at understanding the world as it was now, he was still not completely a part of it all.

Wally's illness was one of those things.

At first he hadn't really understood what was going on. He knew vaguely _of _sickness, of course. But he'd never been sick himself, none of the databases force-fed into his mind included medical care beyond basic first aid, and as far as he knew his invulnerability made him immune to the majority of the things that caused illnesses to begin with. He'd seen people in less than perfect health at New Batcave, but had never bothered to visit the medical facility. And while eavesdropping (unintentionally or no) on Dick's meetings and reports regarding New Batcave's medical care had been both enlightening and disturbing, most of the things he'd overheard—discussions of zed-related post traumatic stress disorders, feral children, and adjusting shell-shocked survivors to colony life—had been more psychological than physical.

So Superboy wasn't exactly familiar with the well-known warning signs most people were familiar with. The week of rain had been a nuisance, making travel more difficult and destroying their visibility, but the worst it had done was get their clothes wet as far as he was concerned. He'd caught Wally's shivering, but Wally always did that when he was cold, and Superboy was so immune to temperature unless it was extreme that he didn't think much of it at first. And Wally had seemed a little more lethargic than usual, but rain _always _seemed to do that to Wally anyway, affecting his mood, quieting his chatter, smothering his cheerful optimism, so he didn't think that was unusual at first, either.

But he did notice _other _things, things that were _not _as common and stood out sharply. The coughing was first—Wally _never _did that, and Superboy didn't like the pained look on his face every time he finished a round of hacking. He asked if Wally was okay, but the teen shrugged it off and said it was nothing. Connor wasn't entirely sure he believed Wally at first, but Wally had never lied to him before, and he'd always been straightforward and often enthusiastic whenever he'd taught Connor anything in the past. In the rare instances in which he didn't want to talk about something, he usually became more subdued, and answered the questions shortly and unenthusiastically, indicating his discomfort. Connor learned to back off from those subjects quickly, like that time Wally had gotten withdrawn after they'd entered New Batcave and Superboy had asked about what happened to the infected people. But Wally didn't do that this time, and he'd never outright lied to Superboy before, so Connor grudgingly quieted and admitted that maybe he was just overreacting after all the bad days and nights they'd been having while traveling.

But he started having doubts again soon after, because the nightmares were a pretty good indication that something was _very _wrong.

Wally had nightmares a lot. Connor had learned that pretty quickly not long after he'd escaped Cadmus, when he took his guard shifts at night and his companion slept. He could sometimes even guess what parts of them were about, the way the teen whimpered in his sleep for his parents or his aunt or his uncle, cried out for his friends not to be hurt, and shied away from grasping, hungry monsters in his sleep. Some of them were less obvious, and Connor suspected those were memories, when Wally's mind decided to replay some of the sick, twisted, horrific things he'd seen during the apocalypse over and over.

Watching and listening to Wally's unconscious distress always disturbed Superboy more than a little, but not nearly as much as when Wally woke up, because Wally never commented on them, _ever. _And Connor had eventually realized that it wasn't even because Wally was trying to avoid emotional confrontations or talking about the bad things he'd seen; he'd just gotten so used to bad dreams and worse memories that they were _normal. _It was like it wasn't even worth waking from them or talking about them anymore because it didn't change anything and they wouldn't go away, so a person just learned to deal with them—end of story. Superboy couldn't claim to be an expert on emotions or psychology, but he was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen, and chalked it up to yet another way the apocalypse had twisted the world.

But although Wally'd had bad dreams pretty frequently, he didn't have them _all _the time. Even when he did Superboy could usually give him a gentle nudge and quiet him down a little, make them retreat. Not so now; Wally was starting to have nightmares far more often, was unresponsive to Connor's attempts to help, and woke from them the next day far less rested than usual. He still never said anything about them—Connor actually thought he remembered nothing at all—but he was starting to look all the worse for wear from it. Something about that didn't sit right in Superboy's stomach, and it felt ominous.

That was why he started keeping a sharper eye on Wally after that, which was how he noticed the other things. The way he'd appeared to have grown a little brighter when viewed through infrared vision. The way he'd gotten paler and shivered more often, even though the rain had gone away by then and it was bright and sunny out. The way his breathing didn't sound quite right, like there was a wet, minute crackling coming from his chest that Superboy couldn't recall ever having heard from Wally before. He'd tried calling Wally on these things, and had been deflected once again, but now he _knew _something was wrong and resolved to keep a close watch, just in case.

He was glad he had, because the next day Wally collapsed, and his friend had fallen downhill ever since. He'd been stunned at how fast a human body could degenerate from something like illness, once he'd begun to witness it firsthand. In the space of a little over a week Wally went from being a physically fit, strong, optimistic young man to a physically weak, exhausted kid that could barely retain any strength for more than a few hours and swam in and out of coherency with alarming regularity. His temperature rose (something Superboy had to watch with his infrared vision because he couldn't really feel the difference with his hand to Wally's forehead), but he shivered constantly. His coughing and breathing became harsher. And he barely even noticed when Superboy carried him anymore, even though he used to throw such a fit over being 'babied' and valued his own independence highly. Connor had been appalled at just how little Wally started weighing after a while, wished it was just because he was getting used to carrying his friend and knew that it wasn't the reason at all.

It scared Connor. A lot. He hated admitting to it, because he hated being scared of anything or too weak to fight anything, but in this case it was true. It scared him to watch his friend, his..._brother, _Wally had called them...turn from a vibrant example of a human being to this shell of a person that was almost as dead as the zeds they were constantly running from. And it scared him more to know that for all his powers, his heritage, and his knowledge, there really wasn't a damn thing he could do to help Wally fight this, other than to keep him alive long enough to find _real _help.

But since that was his only option he threw himself into it whole-heartedly with every shred of determination he owned. Wally was his friend, his family, and he was _not _letting his friend go down without a fight. If he did, he didn't have the right to call himself _Superboy, _or the right to that S-shield he'd worn at his awakening and the legacy that came with it.

So he did everything he could to keep them moving, and to keep Wally as healthy, safe and comfortable as possible while he did. He memorized the maps, poured over them by firelight when Wally slept on the safer nights, repeated the route and the destination over and over in his mind. He helped Wally keep moving in the mornings, and carried him when the teenager was too drained and exhausted to continue on his own. He scavenged for the both of them, and when he couldn't find enough for two, he made sure whatever he did find went to Wally first. He could ignore his own growling stomach for a day, but if Wally didn't get enough nutrition his sick body wouldn't have enough energy to stay in the fight until they made it to the base. And while it worried him to leave Wally behind so often in such a vulnerable state, he was careful to _always _ensure he left his friend behind in someplace safe, completely zed-proof, and repeatedly checked in on him with his super-hearing while out looking for supplies.

And much as he _badly _wanted to brawl with a few zeds, to get his own frustration, anger and worry out of his system, he avoided it when he could. If he got in over his head it would cost Wally, and even if he did win the fights, the noise was certain to attract more zombies, which his sick friend definitely didn't need. He kept his dead head killing to a bare minimum, only what was necessary for keeping their campsites safe, and did it as quickly and stealthily as possible to keep the monsters from moaning and drawing in other hunters. Sometimes it wasn't quite enough, and twice now Connor had grimly been forced to abandon his scavenging attempts to retreat, collect an exhausted, barely-conscious Wally, and beat it out of there before a large number of zeds swelled into an entire horde.

Connor knew he was putting one hundred and ten percent of himself into his efforts to protect his friend, and he knew he was doing everything he possibly could for Wally already. So it angered him to realize it still wasn't _enough. _For all his efforts Wally was still deteriorating rapidly, losing weight, drifting in and out of fitful sleeps and bad dreams, and breathing worse than before. He wasn't even protesting against Connor handling everything by himself anymore, or complaining about having to be taken care of, and he was so out of it these days Connor was starting to wonder if he even _noticed _these things were going on around him. He was sinking farther, and it frustrated Superboy to his core, because he was _Superman's clone, _damn it—he was supposed to be invincible, strong and reliable, a natural protector with a shield over his heart to show what he was truly made for, so why couldn't he save _one _single human being?

When Wally started eating less, and then refusing to eat altogether, Connor was pretty sure they were in trouble. And when Wally admitted in that shuddering, hoarse voice that he was doing badly, and almost desperately insisted that Superboy really didn't owe him anything, when that wet crackling in his chest seemed the loudest since Superboy had first heard it...the chill that ran up Connor's spine told him in no uncertain terms that they were _definitely _in trouble.

He redoubled his efforts. There wasn't much else he could do, but Superboy had not liked that note of finality in Wally's voice, when he'd asked that simple question, and knew he had to push himself harder if Wally had any chance left at all. He tried to increase their speed during travel time, carrying Wally from the beginning instead of letting him waste his energy by trying to walk. Pushing for his own super-strength enhanced speed was also pretty exhausting on Wally, seemed to make the teenager feel worse and took its toll on his body, but at least Superboy was getting more milage out of it. They still had over a hundred miles left of travel, but if Superboy pushed himself, was careful about avoiding zeds, and made sure to let Wally rest and get food and kept him warm, he figured they could make it in about a week.

Then the rain hit, and Superboy felt like knocking a few buildings over in sheer anger when he realized that things were not going to go nearly so well for him. Because that would be far too _easy. _

He'd had no choice but to retreat far earlier than he'd wanted to for shelter with Wally. Connor was fairly sure by now that the illness—while not helped any by their extreme travel conditions and lack of food and medicine—had been sparked by the heavy week of rains they'd had, and was certain that Wally would deteriorate even more rapidly if caught out in another storm. So he'd found someplace safe, started a fire, wrapped Wally up as warmly and comfortably as possible in all the blankets they owned, and tried to wait out the storm.

Which resolutely did not go away, to Connor's intense frustration.

He wished weather control was one of his powers. He'd even settle for the ability to intimidate nature into doing what he wanted. He'd be okay with the world being outright terrified of him, as long as his friends, his family, were alright. But that wasn't going to happen, so he did the next best thing he could, which was make the place safer and use the extra time to scavenge for anything useful they might need for the trek. If he could find enough food to last more than a day, it meant he could travel for longer tomorrow, especially since Wally would have plenty of time to rest with their early break today.

Urgency clawed at the back of his mind as he searched for viable food, safe drinking water, and any medications that could possibly help his friend. He pushed it to the back of his mind. Connor _knew _they had to hurry—he knew Wally didn't have much time left—but there wasn't anything he could do about it right now other than prepare. He _knew _that, and yet that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to go away. In fact it got worse when he tried to check in on Wally with his super-hearing and realized the wind and the rain was causing too much interference, meaning he couldn't hear his friend's condition at all like he usually could.

_But he'll be fine, _Superboy told himself sharply. _I made sure the place was completely safe. Unless the zeds start practicing Robin-level gymnastics they're not getting up where Wally is. The fire was contained, no risk of it spreading. And Wally's been so weak lately I doubt he'd try to help scavenge or anything. He stopped insisting on helping ages ago, anyway. _

The worry in his chest didn't go away, but at least he was able to focus more completely on his goal. By the time night was truly falling, and the storm-cast darkness grew deeper and more defined, he'd found a surprisingly decent cache of dried goods in a collapsed shop that scavengers lacking super-strength could never get their hands on, and with the rain there was no shortage of water. It was a good haul; he should be able to squeeze out a few extra hours of running time tomorrow after all, now, without having to worry about finding things to eat.

His satisfaction turned to dread when he returned to the abandoned factory and found it precisely that: abandoned. Wally was gone.

He never, _ever _should have ignored his instincts.

Worried, Connor tossed the supplies aside and did a quick sweep of the room with his infrared vision. There was always the possibility that Wally had dragged himself up to relieve himself somewhere, or had gotten too hot by the fire, or something. But there were no warm bodies in the room; the only source of heat came from the fire itself. Now frantic, he did a more thorough search of the area with regular vision, casting about for some sort of hint as to what had happened. There were no signs of a struggle, thank goodness, and no zombies laying about either, so probably no attack (because sick or no Connor was sure Wally would refuse to go down without taking at least _one _dead head with him). But it didn't make sense. Wally was just..._gone. _

Frustrated, Connor cast about again as he paced, trying to figure out what had happened. His eyes fell on the pile of supplies next to his pack, and he realized with a start Wally's was gone. Not just gone, but emptied of most of the things it had initially carried.

Cold dread seeped into Connor's gut. Wally hadn't just vanished, or run for his life—he'd _left. _Willingly and intentionally.

At first all Connor felt was shock. He just couldn't comprehend why Wally would want to leave—much less without even the the most basic of supplies. He hadn't even taken any of the food with him; Connor had been keeping track of that for the past two weeks now with Wally's illness, and none of their meager food supplies had been touched. And he couldn't figure out _how _Wally had managed it either, weak as he was. He could barely walk under his own power anymore, lift any substantial weight, or even force himself to eat—it was simply unfathomable that he'd be able to simply _leave. _

Worst of all, Wally had abandoned him. And that hurt more than any physical pain he could possibly try to imagine.

That was ultimately what helped him shift to his next response: anger. Why, after all of Wally's numerous lectures and reprimands, would he make such a bold, rash, _idiotic _decision like this? Why would he run and leave Superboy behind, especially when he was so sick? Did he not _trust _Connor for some reason? Did he think he was proving a point, trying to handle this on his own? Idiot! Stupid! Careless! And he thought _Connor _was bad!

And then straight back to worry, because Connor didn't want to admit it, but the answers to most of his questions were boiling just below the surface, and had been for days. Wally was sick. _Badly. _Connor knew it, and Wally knew it, and they were both perfectly aware that Wally wouldn't survive long on his own without Superboy's care, not in his current condition. He'd admitted as much just the other night. Which meant he _shouldn't _run, but...but Superboy remembered, with a chill running down his spine that had nothing at all to do with the cold he couldn't feel, that tired, fatalistic tone in Wally's voice when he _had _admitted he wasn't doing well, when he'd insisted that Connor owed him nothing.

God. He'd gone off to _die _on his own.

There wasn't any other explanation for it. Wally wasn't getting anywhere on his own and they both knew it. The only thing leaving on his own would accomplish was his death. He hadn't run away to return to his solo travels without having to deal with a partner. He'd hauled himself away because he knew he was dying and, for whatever reason, didn't want Superboy to have to deal with it.

_You know you don't owe me anything, for getting you out of that pod, right?_

"As if that matters," Superboy snarled angrily. His voice echoed in the gloomy, wide-open second floor of the factory around him, and there was no answer, no that he expected one. It didn't matter to _him_—he wasn't _doing _this because he felt obligated to, even if he was grateful to Wally for finding him in Cadmus. But obviously it had been immensely important to Wally, enough to prompt him to do something as stupid and infuriating and terrifying as _this. _

He should have paid better attention. He shouldn't have brushed that question off as easily as he did. But he'd thought Wally was just out of it again, and he'd been breathing so badly, he'd _needed _the rest, there was no way for Superboy to know it would prompt him to do something like this...but he _should _have. He'd been trying so hard to protect Wally from the outside world he hadn't seen the danger right in front of his own face.

What had made him think _this _was the solution?

"Doesn't matter," Superboy growled decisively. Thinking about this was getting him nowhere. All he was doing was running in circles, and every second he wasted wrestling with his own worries and frustrations and mistakes was another second Wally was out there on his own, in danger from everything from zeds to the weather. He had to _find _Wally—that was all that mattered for now. When he was safe once more Connor could drag the answers out of him. He wouldn't get those answers if Wally was dead.

Eyes narrowed dangerously, teeth bared as though going into battle, Connor turned his back on their campsite and all their possessions and vanished into the storm once again.

Under normal circumstances, finding Wally would have been easy. Connor's enhanced hearing would have let him track his friend for a great distance, no matter how stealthy Wally tried to be, and his infrared vision would let him scan for warm bodies and very recent heat trails, even in the dark. Unfortunately for Connor, the storm interfered with all of that—which was probably what Wally had intended. He doubted his friend wanted to be found, at this point.

Too bad for him. Connor was going to track him down anyway, and when he was better Connor was going to ream him out _big _time for ever _thinking _about pulling a stunt like this.

His most useful tools were diminished severely, but that didn't mean Connor was helpless. He could still hear pretty decently at short distances, and the occasional distant lightning flash lit up the area enough for him to see where he was going. If he was close enough to a building he could listen for signs of life within, and he could make pretty decent guesses at which buildings weren't even worth checking due to being locked, collapsed, or just impossible to get into without super-strength. He also figured that Wally had probably gone in the opposite direction of where Superboy had been scavenging, just to avoid being seen or heard and hauled back to their safe zone. And of course, unlike a normal human being, Connor wasn't hindered by the cold or the wet of the storm itself, meaning he could keep searching long after even a physically fit human being would have had to retreat for safety.

Still, for all his advantages, two hours later he was still searching and growing more frantic by the second. The storm had started to abate by now, but it was nearly nine at night, and his survival instincts were screaming that he needed to be indoors and out of sight of the all too real monsters that roamed the land. And as if in answer to his all too valid concerns, that was when Connor heard the first hunting moan far ahead of him, riding on the end of a distant roll of thunder.

For one second, on pure instinct, he froze. He'd gained a wary respect for zombies by now, and as much as he loved smashing their heads in when he was feeling particularly frustrated or broody over his purpose in the apocalypse, weeks of lectures from Wally cautioned him against running headlong towards the monsters. But _Wally _was still out there. And he wasn't going to abandon his friend because he'd been taught to avoid the walking dead at all costs. Wally hadn't abandoned _him _like that outside of Cadmus, after all, disregarding his own survival rules in the process.

Besides—zombies didn't moan like that unless they had sight or scent of prey. And although it was _possible _that there was another traveler or travelers out here trying to escape a few dead-heads, it seemed _far _more likely that Wally was the target. Especially when the number of moans increased, but did not appear to be coming closer. So although it was dangerous, Connor tuned in on the noise, and threw himself down the nearly pitch-black streets towards monsters he should, by all rights, but running as fast as he could _away _from.

The storm clouds were just beginning to move on above, letting a little weak moonlight illuminate the area, when Connor reached the origin of the moans. It was just enough light to let his sharper-than-normal vision make out the most important parts of the scene before him, like the forty-or-so zombies groaning and trying to smash their way into a little storefront on the corner of the small intersection they were all standing in. Based on the thick cracks in the door and the shattered glass window the zeds were reaching through, they were succeeding pretty well. There was something inside that they wanted, and the only reason they weren't already in was because they weren't coordinated enough to figure out how to climb through the window, but once the door was busted it wouldn't be too much longer.

It wasn't hard to figure out what they were after inside. Connor didn't have to hear the weak, ragged coughing coming from the interior of the building to know Wally had holed up in there. Connor was honestly shocked that Wally had even made it this far; they were almost on the opposite side of the industrial area of this very _large _town, quite a hike from their shelter even when one was perfectly healthy. And now the zombies were going to undermine all that effort by mindlessly, uncaringly, _hungrily _ripping his best friend, his _brother, _to bits.

Superboy saw red.

He'd often been angry, in the past. Wally had told him more than once he was a little too overaggressive for somebody with his level of strength, and he frequently found himself getting snarly and snappish over incidents or comments or misfortunes ever since he'd started traveling through the world and seen how broken and messed up it was. He hated messing up at anything, he hated when people acted wary and distrustful around him, and he hated being _weak _enough that swarms of dead humans were a threat he couldn't do anything about, and when he hated something he showed it. But all of those times put together paled in comparison to the raw _fury _he felt at seeing those _things _surrounding his friend, at knowing Wally was at their mercy from his own stupid decisions and too close to dead _himself _to protect himself from the walking variety.

Superboy had never fought this many zeds before. Much less at night, when they had the advantage. Much less with the need to protect someone completely helpless while doing so. Any way a person looked at it logically, it was suicide to engage.

Superboy was far past logic. With a primal howl, eyes blazing with fury and the promise of a very _permanent _death, he charged.

* * *

Do you know how long I've wanted to use _Kryptonite_ as an opener quote? Let me tell you. _A really long time._


	14. Chapter 14

**Age of Heroes**

Part fourteen of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warnings**: Some zombie gore, because zombie fights are never really clean. Might be a little graphic.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own,_ Young Justice_ or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.

* * *

"Appears we got here just in the nick of time. What does that make us?"  
"_Big damn heroes, _sir."  
"Ain't. We. _Just._"  
~_Firefly_

* * *

Not long after they'd escaped D.C., when Wally was first teaching Superboy how to fight zombies, he'd repeatedly lectured the clone for roaring loudly every time he ran into battle. Superboy just _did _it without even thinking about it—he was angry, he wanted to fight, he yelled an incoherent, wordless battle cry. "That's cool and all," Wally had told him in exasperation, "and I'm sure it'll scare the hell out of anybody _alive, _but zeds _aren't. _All that's gonna do is attract all the walking dead in the area and attention's the _last _thing we want." It had taken a lot of work to curb that natural, automatic response to throwing himself into the thick of a fight, but eventually Superboy had learned to resist.

He didn't now. He _wanted _the zeds to know he was here. And maybe they wouldn't get it, but he wanted them to _know _just how enraged he was, and just how badly they were about to _really _die. So he cut loose with a wild, furious scream as he hurled himself towards the mass of the walking dead, and didn't regret it for a second.

A few of them, the ones closest to the building, didn't even bother to turn and acknowledge the noise. They were too close to hearing Wally's ragged coughs and pained moans, and too focused on their prey to be distracted. But the ones farther out in the pack, closer to Superboy, shuffled and turned and began staggering towards their new prey as soon as they realized he was there. Superboy faced down a veritable sea of blank, sightless eyes, gnashing teeth, raised, grasping arms, and uncoordinated bodies, and his highly sensitive ears made out each and every whistle of air and raspy groan that clawed its way out of their throats.

All it did was make him angrier.

There was an old pickup truck parked halfway on the sidewalk, abandoned and rusted and glinting just slightly in the dim moonlight. Superboy leapt to it easily and hauled it up over his head. It had to weigh at least three tons, but he barely felt the strain of lifting it, and with another enraged roar he hurled the vehicle at the approaching zombies. It was a slow throw, and any sensible human would have run immediately to get out of the way and save themselves. But zeds weren't people anymore, just monsters, and these things came on relentlessly—and died. The truck smashed into the front line, knocking a number of the outlying creatures over and crushing several flat. It bounced and rolled with a screech of metal and a rumbling groan from its interior, and several more of the walking dead fell victim to Superboy's attack.

By the time the vehicle had finally rolled to a stop, dented, missing most of its undercarriage, and with every single window shattered, at least ten zombies had been removed from the fight, heads (and everything else) completely smashed in. Several more writhed and moaned hungrily, clawing out towards their prey, but the truck had ripped off their legs or shattered their spines, making it difficult if not impossible for them to continue to hunt. They were still dangerous, but as long as they were avoided, they weren't as much of a threat as the still mobile ones.

Superboy bared his teeth at the remaining horde. "Come and try it," he snarled, as the still standing zeds, unaffected by fear or the conditions of their brethren, continued to shuffle forward tirelessly. "I'll rip you _all _apart!"

He fully intended to, too. These things had threatened Wally, his best friend, his _family_—he was going to make them regret the day they had _ever _been reborn.

There were no more cars close at hand for him to use as convenient projectile weapons, but that was hardly Superboy's only trick. There were a number of tall metal street lamps lining the side of the road; they were completely useless for actually shedding light on the battle, but Superboy had a different purpose in mind for them. He snapped one from the concrete as easily as a child picking a flower, and with another snarl he lashed out with his new improvised weapon. The first strike caved a zombie's head in cleanly with a single blow, as well as the head of the zombie standing next to it. The second strike was equally effective, and the third, and the fourth. By the time the metal post had succumbed to his own massive strength and cracked in half, unable to withstand the sheer force of the attack, another ten zombies had been returned to regular old corpses. That was more than half the pack destroyed or disabled—and still they kept coming.

Superboy was far from ready to give up, and he wasn't even winded, but he _did _realize through his red haze that he was in trouble now. The pole had been effective for killing from a distance, but the zeds were tireless and unrelenting, pushing closer and closer, and when he was backed into the narrower streets he didn't have as much room to maneuver. Grabbing another lamp would be useless without the room and the distance to wield it. He settled for snatching up a dirty _No Parking _sign, which let him break in another four zombie heads before it snapped.

Then they were on him.

Raw fighting instinct and sheer rage, a holdover from his Cadmus origins, urged him to hurl himself forward into the fray and set about beating on as many of the creatures as he wanted with his bare hands. Wally's lessons, and his own intelligence, cautioned him against it. To enter a crowd of zombies on his own without a weapon was to die; there was just no way to keep from being bitten by at least one. Instead he backed away down the street, snatched the closest reaching zombie by one wrist, and twisting quickly, hurled it at the others. They fell over backwards, unsteady already, and writhed and moaned as they attempted to regain their feet and reach their prey.

Superboy used the space he gained to crouch low and hurl himself into the air with his super-strength. Long hours of practice and lots of running had taught him to turn his escape into a weapon in and of itself, inspired in a large part by Wally enthusiastically complimenting him on his first kill via 'goomba-stomping' (a term Connor still didn't entirely get, no matter how many times Wally tried to explain video games to him). It was hard to aim in the dark, with only a little moonlight and his superior hearing to go by, but he managed, leaping clear over the mass of walking dead and coming smashing back down on the opposite side of the horde and a pair of dead stragglers. His weight, and the super-powered impact, crushed their heads completely and cracked the pavement beneath his boots.

The zeds turned almost ponderously at the noise, and the hunting moans continued relentlessly as they shuffled towards him once again, reaching arms raised. Superboy ducked underneath the cold, dead fingers of one or two of the closer zeds at the back—now front—of the pack, and hurled another zed at its fellows to buy himself some time. The tables had turned, and with his position change the situation favored him now again. He'd leapt straight into the intersection, giving him more room to maneuver and make use of his massive strength, and putting more improvised weapons at his disposal.

The first thing he snatched up was another abandoned car. This one was smaller than the truck, and weighed far less, but it was still a useful weapon against a horde of zombies when gifted with super strength. The moon slipped behind a cloud as he shifted the vehicle to hurl it, and in the pitch blackness his aim would be off; but he compensated by focusing on the moans he could hear in front of him, and threw the makeshift weapon as hard as he could. There was another screech of metal and several loud bangs, and the zed moaning diminished significantly, so he knew he'd gotten at least a few.

Then there was a resounding _crunch _of wood and stone and the chime of shattering glass, and more distantly Superboy heard Wally's ragged gasp of surprise and what he was sure was _pain. _It took him a moment to put two and two together, but when he did his eyes widened in horror. He'd thrown the car hard enough to damage the shop currently functioning as Wally's shelter.

He could have kicked himself. Stupid, to let his anger get the better of him! He should have been careful, waited for the moon to drift back out from behind the clouds, _something! _Instead he'd let his battle lust consume him and could very well have hurt Wally's chances as a result. Or Wally himself.

God, he hoped he hadn't just opened the door for those _things _to get at his friend.

New fury and strength boiled up in him, but this time he focused it, channelled it, made it work for _him. _His life wasn't the only one at stake; he couldn't afford to lose control of this battle. As far as he could hear there were maybe six or seven of the zeds left moving, and probably half a dozen that were still potentially deadly but less of a threat when they couldn't move. He had to approach carefully—with the moon still behind the clouds there was almost no light to see by, meaning he had to hunt by sound alone. And he had to do it fast, because he could hear the groaning by the shop increasing, and knew that if those monsters hadn't already gotten through yet, they were sure to do so soon, with his inadvertent assistance.

He moved in for the kill.

His final weapon of choice ended up being one of the thick metal poles the traffic lights for the intersection had once been mounted on. The lights and the wires they were attached to had been brought down a long time ago, from storms and lack of attention most likely, but the metal poles were still standing strong. Superboy ripped one from its post, snapped the far end off to make it easier to wield by slamming it into the ground, and charged.

Killing zeds at night was not easy, he discovered—but it _was_ doable. He had to put supreme focus into everything he did, make each and every movement calculated and ensure every one counted, and it was difficult when he was so used to simply lashing out with his immense strength and bull-rushing his way through everything from sheer power. He wondered if this was how humans, _pure _humans, felt when going up against dangerous opponents. It took all his concentration, but he found that if he focused, he could manage, and be mostly successful.

Superboy zeroed in on a single zed moan, trying to separate it from the others, and figure out how far away it was from him and the ground. Then he'd swing the pole, smashing out hard at the source of the vile noise in the distance. Sometimes he missed, and the metal swung through empty air, useless, and he had to take a second to recover. But more often than not he felt the barely resisting _thud _of once-human skull and flesh at the far end of the traffic pole, and heardthe wet _crunch _and the profound silence when the creature suddenly stopped making noise. One, two, three and four at the same time, five and six, resisting and groaning and dropping and falling silent, well and truly and _finally _dead. The seventh was faster, closer, inside his guard before he realized it, gripping his arm with unrelenting determination and a strength that would have been dangerously powerful up against anything other than a partial Kryptonian. Superboy snarled, wrenched his arm away from the cold, dead fingers, and lifted his leg to kick it savagely with a move Dick had taught him back at New Batcave before he even realized he was doing it. The moan turned into a gurgle and it fell backwards onto the ground. Connor smashed its face in with the broken end of the pole, and it, too, fell silent and still.

And suddenly the horde was gone.

Connor stood, panting hard, as he glared around into the darkness and strained his hearing for any signs of further attackers. He wasn't winded physically—the fight had only been five minutes, ten at most, and he'd barely pushed his abilities, much less to their limit. But mentally, emotionally, it was exhausting to have taken on so many walking corpses while running on pure _fury, _and—now that he thought about it—more than a little fear too, though for himself or for his friend he couldn't say.

And when the moon slowly peeked out from behind the storm clouds again, shedding a little more dim light on the dark streets than before, Connor added _shock _to the list as well, when he saw what he'd done. There were bodies strewn _everywhere, _broken and twisted unnaturally, with old congealed blood and brain matter spattered cross the pavement and already draining away with the rest of the rainwater down into the old, unused sewers. Some of the bodies crushed by the vehicles were barely identifiable as formerly human, and the ragged moans of the surviving but immobile zeds almost sounded pitiful, even though Connor _knew _they felt no pain. The pole still in his hand was coated with gore as well, at the end, and he dropped the remains of it in disgust. The entire picture together in the darkness looked twisted, wrong. It was like a massacre had happened, and they'd never stood a chance. No wonder Cadmus had wanted to make him as a weapon. Over forty zeds, and he'd torn them all apart, and he wasn't even sorry. It would have been so easy to do it to _real _people, too. It was so dirty, vile, _wrong. _

Everything about this _world _was wrong.

Still grimacing, he turned towards the shop, ignoring the way the wet streets glistened white and red in the moonlight, and casting his attention towards the interior of the building. That was when he realized that Wally's breathing had grown harsher, more frantic, and that not all the zombie moans he heard belonged to the immobile ones in the streets. Eyes widening, he hurled himself across the street in the span of a second and smashed through the remains of the door, what was left of it. He barely felt the impact as he crashed into the room and heard more than saw the two lumbering, groaning shapes that were shuffling towards the huddled form in the corner, the one that was coughing and barely breathing.

Connor could have sworn he'd burned himself out with his furious assault outside, but he found he still had it in him to be angry. He was across the room in a heartbeat, and as the two zeds reached out with grasping, dead hands for their helpless prey he snarled and snatched them both by the backs of their necks. They weighed nothing at all as he threw them into the far wall. The first stopped moaning abruptly as its head smashed open against the concrete from the force of the throw. Connor heard a sharp _snap-crack _from the second's neck as it thudded against the wall and fell to the floor, and although the rest of its body stopped moving, its jaw continued to gnash as it tried to feed. Connor ended its hollow existence under his boot heel. He listened hard, but there were no further monster moans close at hand—the threats were officially gone.

For the moment, anyway.

A harsh coughing from the back of the room drew his attention away from his surveillance, and Superboy was across the room again in another heartbeat, crouching next to his friend and looking him over frantically. Wally had collapsed against a locked door at the back of the room, one that Connor realized led up to the second level. With a pang of horror the clone realized Wally had been trying to escape to a safer, higher location, but had been too weak to get the door open before he'd fallen, effectively leaving him at the mercy of the walking dead. If Connor hadn't shown up when he did, Wally almost certainly would have joined their ranks.

Wally himself was barely aware now—his eyes were half open, but they looked hazy and unfocused. Part of him must have known the danger he was in, though, because although he was curled on his side against the door, he clung to his weapon of choice, his crowbar, like it was a lifeline. Connor was surprised at just how much force he need to use to pry the weapon out of Wally's hands and sling it through his belt.

"No," the teenager gasped, and then began coughing hard as he scrabbled feebly for his weapon. His expression was one of sheer exhaustion, and it shifted to desperation and fear as he tried to shove his perceived attacker away. "Not gonna...no...can't..._no!_"

"Wally, it's _me,_" Superboy snapped at him. It was harsher than intended, but seeing Wally so out of it and so scared and _sick _actually hurt, and at the same time made him furious at his friend for doing this to himself. When Wally didn't seem to recognize his voice and his eyes flickered, wild and unfocused and unseeing in the darkness, Superboy added, "It's Connor. Superboy."

Wally still seemed uncertain, and his brows knit together in confusion. He seemed to be struggling to put Connor's words together, but the clone could tell when Wally finally recognized him, because he heard Wally's heart jump, and the sickly teenager coughed, "Supey?"

"Yeah. I'm here." Relieved that Wally was at least responding properly now, Connor set to work. Wally's pack was a few paces away; he leaned over and snatched it up, slinging it over one shoulder before crouching to scoop up Wally in his arms. His friend looked and sounded terrible, but Connor wanted to get someplace at least a little safer and with more light before giving him a full once-over. It would just be too easy for zeds to stagger in after them here. He kicked through the locked door to the second floor easily, shattering it to to splinters, and hurried upstairs into what looked like some kind of storage room or attic. It was mostly empty, other than a few broken crates and a lot of dust. But the moonlight shown through the far window well enough, and zeds wouldn't be getting up here without making a racket and being slowed down. It would do.

He set Wally down again on the dusty floor near the window so he could see as well as possible, just in time for Wally to cough and gasp, "Why're you here?"

"Are you stupid? You almost just got _eaten. _Why do you _think _I'm here?" Connor snapped. A quick glance at his friend's body told him he'd gained a few minor cuts from some shattered glass, probably from when he'd thrown that car at the building—Connor winced slightly in guilt. But there were no major injuries or broken bones, and—most importantly—no savage bite marks or shredded flesh, meaning Wally had escaped _that _end at least. He blinked once and forced the transition from regular to infrared vision, frowning at how burning hot Wally appeared now. He'd felt that his friend's clothes were soaked through when he'd picked him up, and his cough sounded worse than before, that wet crackling noise in his chest more obvious. He was doing bad. _Real _bad. Any hope Connor had of his friend making it a full week was dashed.

"Shouldn't have..." Wally muttered under his breath. The words were barely audible and slurred, but Connor at least could make them out. "Not s'posed to..."

"I'm not supposed to what? Save your life? Care when you run off without a word when you're sick? Get _worried?_" Connor grit his teeth in frustration. "Too bad. Did anyway."

"No." Wally seemed to be struggling very hard to form his thoughts into coherent sentences, and lifted his head just enough to look Connor in the eye. Even in the limited lighting the moon offered, Connor could see they were glassy and unfocused. But there was still a little life burning in them, and he knew whatever he _wasn't _supposed to do, Wally felt very strongly about it—enough to crawl off to his own death. "Not that...not s'posed to..._owe_ me...ruin your life...goals...'caus've me..." He coughed, hard, hacking violent coughs that caused him to wince in pain and curl over on his side, pressing his head back to the ground. Connor put a hand on his back and rubbed it as gently as he could, mindful of how easily he could break the sick teenager's spine right now, and grimaced both in sympathy and frustration. When the coughing fit subsided, Wally finished tiredly, "Gotta be..._you_, Supey..."

Connor's eyes widened at the revelation, and suddenly he understood why Wally had been willing to pull this ridiculous stunt. Crazy as it seemed, Wally thought he'd been _helping, _looking out for his friend with the twisted, bitter sort of logic that blossomed in the apocalypse. He'd been certain he was holding Connor back, and when he became too much of a perceived burden, he'd removed himself from the equation.

It was also the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his life, all four years and four months of it.

"You're an idiot, Wally," he growled. "You think I'm just putting up with you 'cause I _owe _you? 'Cause I have to keep some promise I made to Dick? You're _wrong. _I'm doing this because I _want _to, and because you're a _friend_. It's not a pointless risk. Your goal is finding your family. My goal is making sure you _do _find them, got it? And if you think I'm going to let you choose to just roll over and _die _before you see them again, after four years of trying, you'd better think again!"

Even through his sickly haze, Wally looked stunned at the declaration. For a moment his eyes were so wide and lifeless that Superboy found himself irrationally afraid that Wally had died and turned on him in the span of a single heartbeat. But another heartbeat followed, and another, and another, Wally was toeing the line but he was still _alive, _for the moment at least. Then his exhausted, pain-filled expression shifted to a weak, watery smile, and he rasped low under his breath, "I...sorry, Supey...I didn't..."

"I know you didn't," Connor said, a little less harshly this time. "I know you didn't think it through, and I know you didn't mean it. Don't try this crap again, got it? Makes it a lot harder for me to reach _my _goal, and now we know you hate screwing that up."

There was nothing more he could do here—he had to get Wally back to their camp and the fire, try to warm him up in a safer place, get him ready for travel. He crouched to scoop Wally up again, cradling him as protectively close as possible as he made for the window. Wally's head flopped limply against his chest, and the teen let out a ragged breath before saying softly, " 'm already dead, Supey."

Connor froze.

"Glad you helped me," Wally added, in between painful sounding breaths. His eyes were closed, like he was too tired to keep them open anymore, and his entire body was limp and unresponsive as Connor carried him. It seemed a chore for him even to speak, but he put all his efforts into it anyway. "Really. Never woulda got this far 'thout you. We tried. Just...not gonna reach th'base in time. Not fast enough." To Connor's horror, a weak smile slid into place on his friend's face for a moment, as if he found the whole thing morbidly funny. "Sucks, right? Should be. Uncle Barry...he'd be there in a flash." He snickered, as if this was a hilarious joke, until the snickers turned into another harsh cough. When it subsided he finished tiredly with, "Not me, though. No...no 'kid' Flash here...jus' me...oh well."

Connor grit his teeth. His every instinct told him to _move, _but he had to pause for just a bit longer, sort this out. "Superman's fast too."

"Yer...not Superman...Supey."

That hurt, inexplicably, like a knife to the heart, but Connor ignored it. Wally didn't mean anything by it, after all. "No. I'm part human, remember? Best of both worlds. _Tenacious, enduring, adaptable, and innovative,_" he paraphrased New Batcave's leader. "And you're _all _that."

"Only s'much we can do, Supey," Wally breathed tiredly. His voice was getting fainter, and the way his heart was slowing, Connor suspected he was drifting towards unconsciousness.

Superboy had enough. He grimaced, then snarled, "It's enough. Listen to me, Wally—listen!"

"Mmmph?"

"You are _not _already dead. You didn't get bit, which means you're still alive. And I don't care _how _impossible you think it sounds, I am _getting _you to that base, and you are _going _to survive, got it? You're not allowed to give up and die. If you stop fighting, you don't _deserve _to be a part of that hero team with the rest of us!"

Wally's brows drew together in another frown, and for just a bare fraction of a second, he looked angry. His head twitched against Connor's chest for a moment, and he finally rasped with the rest of his strength, "I...try." And then he was gone, sinking into himself completely as exhaustion finally forced him under. If Connor hadn't been able to hear his heartbeat, or listen to his harsh breathing, he would have sworn he was holding just another dead body.

But he'd gotten it. He'd gotten Wally to commit himself to the fight, one last time. And now he had a promise of his own to keep.

Connor barely remembered the trip back to their shelter; he'd been on autopilot, instinctively keeping an eye and an ear out for zeds while the rest of him retreated into his own head to plan. When he finally jumped them back up to the second floor of the factory half an hour later, he barely had to think at all as he leapt into action, moving as quickly as he could to prepare everything for the journey.

The first step was Wally, who was shivering badly in his soaked clothing. Connor built up the fire again for his sake, shook him awake just long enough to help him change into drier things from their supplies, and wrapped him up in every single jacket and blanket they owned. When he was taken care of and resting as well as he could by the fire, out cold once more, Connor shifted to their supplies.

He _could_ carry all of it, if he had to, but he noticed that the more weight he was forced to carry the slower the speed he could reach from his enhanced strength. At this point speed was _far _more important than supplies, so he dumped almost everything they owned, keeping only the most vital things: food, water, first aid kit, map, and the crowbar, which had proved to be a serviceable weapon and might still come in handy. After a moment's hesitation he decided to keep a few of the lighter—but potentially expensive—supplies as trade goods as well, like the compass, matches, knives, batteries, flashlight, and some of the hunting and fishing gear. He wasn't sure if he'd have to barter for Wally's care once they got to the base, but he'd rather have something of value on hand to guarantee his friend's safety. He'd also found a tarp in the factory earlier, dirty and a bit tattered but serviceable, which he set aside as well in case it rained again—then he'd be able to wrap Wally in it and keep the wet off while still running. At this point they couldn't afford to try and wait out the storms, not when every second counted for keeping Wally alive.

Everything else, he set aside in a neat pile in one corner. It was a veritable fortune of survival and trade goods, and if another traveler ever came past here hunting for shelter or scavenging they were going to be filthy rich. Superboy hardly cared. As long as Wally pulled through this, Connor would be willing to start over with absolutely nothing.

Soon everything was ready to go. Connor gave himself a single hour to rest; he could feel the first edges of fatigue creeping up on him, just barely, and did his best to ignore it. He wasn't going to be resting for a long time now, so he'd have to both get used to the feeling, and take the opportunity to rest while he could. The hour was good for Wally too, who desperately needed the chance to try and claw back even a few bare scraps of his rapidly dwindling strength. And he needed every scrap he could get, because if this next part of the trip was going to be difficult for Connor, it was going to be close to murder on Wally.

Connor just hoped that didn't turn out to be literal.

The single hour passed with obnoxious quickness and painful slowness. It was quick because he knew he needed the rest, and there just wasn't enough time for it; it was slow because he couldn't stop his mind from insisting that _they had to move, now, Wally doesn't have much time, so stop wasting it! _But finally go time came, and gritting his teeth with grim determination, Superboy stomped out the fire, shouldered his pack, and gathered the unconscious Wally up in his arms.

And he ran.

It was the middle of the night, and even with the storm clouds finally fully past and the moon shedding a little light on the dead world beneath it, it was hard to see. Under normal circumstances Connor never would have even attempted to try traveling at night, not when he was at such a disadvantage compared to the zeds, and not with that death run he and Wally had endured just a few weeks ago still fresh in his memories. Even for him, with all his powers and abilities and survival skills, it was a dangerous endeavor and far more scary then he'd care to admit, even to himself.

But Wally didn't really have the luxury of wasting ten hours at a time waiting for the sun to come out again, not anymore. The rest barely did him any good, and all it did was cut a vast hunk of time out of their traveling. Night travel would be dangerous, but playing it safe would be _fatal, _and that wasn't a risk Connor was willing to take. Besides, after that massive battle he'd had with the zeds in the dark, he was feeling at least a _little _more confident about his chances to keep them safe. And this time at least he'd have the option of running away instead of standing and fighting, because the person he was shielding didn't need additional saving.

So he forced himself to run, and he pushed himself to his limits. And with his Kryptonian strength, his limits were _far _beyond anything any human _or _zombie could manage without powers. He doubted he clocked in at the speeds that the Flash or Superman could have managed, but his speed was still impressive, and once he made it back to the freeways without as many obstructions he figured he was making good time. And truthfully, despite the urgency and desperation of the situation, he found it almost..._exhilarating..._to cut loose like this. He'd never pushed himself fully to his limits before. Even in that zed run a few weeks back he'd been holding _himself _back to stay with Wally and make sure his friend made it through okay, and his exhaustion then had been born just as much of stress as it was from exertion. He'd had plenty of practice _subduing_ his powers, but he'd never unleashed them fully, and it felt almost _good _to realize he was, at that moment, one of the most powerful things in the world_. _

The whole world dead or getting there, his best friend slowly dying in his arms, and he actually had the nerve to feel almost _happy. _If that wasn't messed up he didn't know what was.

Maybe he _did _belong to the apocalypse after all.

Still, that power had its benefits, and by the time dawn hit hours later he was miles away from the town where Wally had nearly died. Superboy hadn't stopped moving for a moment, and only once the light of the sun was fully bathing the world again did he slow down to a fast walk, giving himself a chance to rest a little. He was breathing hard from the exertion, and he felt a little tired, but it was easy enough to push away and ignore as long as he eased up a little on himself. And it was probably good for Wally too, who looked exhausted even in his sleep, and could probably stand an hour of not being jostled around so much.

He kept to that pattern, walking for an hour to keep moving while letting himself and Wally rest, and then pushing himself for three or four hours at the fastest speed he could manage. The super jump might have been faster, but he reserved that only for dangerous run-ins with zombies and getting across otherwise impassable obstacles; besides the danger of it being loud enough to attract more zeds, it was difficult to really cushion Wally when he jumped, and the impact of landing was hard on him. But he still kept up a wicked pace with just regular running, eating up the miles in a way Wally probably would have found impressive if he'd been more aware of his surroundings.

Wally was becoming even more of a concern for Superboy than before, and by mid-afternoon he finally forced himself to stop completely for a couple of hours, for his friend's sake more than himself. Connor _was _starting to slow, and feel the ache in his muscles from trying to push himself for hours at a time, so the rest was probably good for him—but Wally was doing far worse. Most of his time was spent in unconsciousness now, and it was getting harder and harder for Superboy to wake him, even for simple things like getting him to drink. When he did surface into consciousness on his own, now, he was rarely lucid, and could barely focus long enough to answer simple questions. He was hardly aware of his own surroundings, or that he was being carried, or even of who was carrying him, and when he recognized that somebody else was there at all it was usually to address Connor by a name that wasn't his own. It was a whole new level of alarming for Connor, who had _already _been shocked by the degree to which a person could fall apart when seriously sick, and that had just been the body—to see it affecting his friend's mind was more than a little frightening.

The few hours of rest didn't seem to help much, but they at least helped a _little, _giving Wally enough time to recover bits and pieces of his strength after the run that had to be grueling on him. Superboy managed to wheedle a little water into him, and a few bites of dried rations, and managed to even get an almost lucid conversation out of him, enough to insist that _he was going to be just fine and he'd better not give up yet or Superboy was going to kick his ass, _which had prompted the tiniest quirk at the corner of Wally's lips before he slipped into unconsciousness again.

Then the running again, when they'd both had a chance to rest, and Superboy pushed himself well into the night until he could barely force himself to run anymore. There were no less than six harrowing zombie encounters, most of which he managed to outrun and one of which had turned into a serious fight when he'd gotten them backed into a corner by taking the wrong turn at dusk, but they'd gotten out of all of them alive. By midnight Connor was dead on his feet, and felt almost like a zed himself. He'd found an abandoned apartment building, broke his way into a sixth floor apartment, set Wally down on the old mattress in one of the bedrooms, and flopped down next to him to pass out for six hours. When the light of dawn woke him again he still felt tired, but at least refreshed _enough _to keep pushing himself for a whole new day.

It all ran together, after a while. Run, run, run until you can't anymore. Slow down. Walk. Then run again. Again. Again. Keep pushing yourself. Don't stop for anything. Talk when you can, keep him alive, keep him focusing, remind him that he can't give up if you aren't. More running. Stop. Rest, he needs it, but not too long; you don't have too long. Run again. Just go. _Go. _

It became a mantra after a while, and by the third dawn Superboy found himself moving almost entirely on autopilot. He wondered if it was because he was a clone, if it was because he was _Superman's _clone, if it was because he was human, or if it was just because he was crazy enough to live in _this _world, that he was able to keep going when he should have stopped a long time ago. But the answer didn't really matter. Neither did the question. Just. Keep. _Going. _

By afternoon of the third day, sixty hours after his forced run began, he began seeing the zeds less, and the packs were smaller, which he thought was a good sign. He wasn't even sure how many miles he'd covered by this point, just that it was _a lot, _far more than any normal human should have been capable of in two and a half days, but if the zeds were starting to clear out maybe he was getting closer to the base. New Batcave had regularly kept their docks clear and run small patrols close to their waters; they'd do the same at a land-locked base to protect their people, right? Made sense. It had to. _Had _to.

It had to because Wally hadn't woken up for hours now, not even when Superboy tried to shake him awake for more water, and that was bad, bad, _bad. _When Connor caught the signs of possible habitation, so close, so _close, _and Wally was so _close _to losing despite how hard they'd both been fighting, Superboy finally thought, _to hell with it, _and switched from running to the super-leaps. They were worse on Wally, and they were exhausting and attention-grabbing on Superboy, but Wally wasn't going to make it at _all _if he didn't push for everything he had. So he gambled it all on one last attempt, and threw himself forward with his last burst of speed.

He wasn't sure if it had been worth it, until half an hour later he heard an alarmed shout below him, amongst the abandoned cars and weeds along the freeway, as he soared ahead with another super-powered leap. Shouts, however alarmed, were not moans; they were inherently _human. _Glancing down he was both surprised and relieved to see _people, _real people, dressed in hunting uniforms and wielding hunting rifles, with heartbeats and real breaths and everything _human,_ and staring up at _him _with wide-eyed shock as he shot past above them. One pointed at him, but he was already past them then, landing with a pavement-shattering _crunch _and lifting off again in the space of only a few seconds, and he never _did _hear what they said.

But he was close now, so close. After everything he'd been through it should have been hard to focus, his mind _should _have been hazy and dull from over-exhaustion and too much emotion and stress. But he found it all too easy to remember the details and information from the maps Dick had given them, and Wally's own instructions and descriptions from memory, and now he altered his own trajectory accordingly.

_So close. So close. Almost. So close—there!_

One last super-leap brought him sailing over a pair of streets and a stretch of barren, open ground that might have been a park or something, once upon a time, and he smashed down to the ground with a force that cracked the concrete around him into a small crater. Then he stood, panting, clutching Wally's still, far too subdued body protectively close, and found himself standing in front of a modified wall and gate, staring down the muzzles of no less than six firearms as the soldiers wielding them stared at him in open shock.

"Let me in," Superboy growled. His voice was harsh and ragged from too much running and hard breathing, and probably sounded more aggressive than intended, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Hurry. My friend is sick—he needs help."

The guards still looked shocked, and did not lower their weapons, apparently unsure if Connor was actually a threat or not. He grimaced angrily. It was only with supreme willpower, and a reminder that it wasn't every day somebody came launching down from the sky at their doorstep—so they were understandably wary—that kept Connor from shoving forward and taking matters into his own hands. Then, after a moment, one of them lowered his weapon just slightly and, regarding Connor with bewilderment, asked softly, "S...Superman?"

Connor blinked at that, and just like before when he had initially pushed his powers to their limits, he was at war with himself. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be not just compared to his predecessor, but seen _as _him...to be so strong and powerful that humans would see _him _as the Man of Steel, as a _hero, _from the Age of Heroes itself, not this messed up, dead age of _nothing. _It was what he was made for. What he was _supposed _to be. And for a moment he _was, _and just like before, almost..._happy. _But he shouldn't be. That was wrong, all _wrong. _The world was dead and he hadn't been there to stop it and he shouldn't be taking happiness out of it _now. _He shouldn't be at peace when his best friend, his _family, _had pulled him out of that pod and encouraged him to make his _own _place for himself and had risked his own life, was _dying, _just to ensure he _did. _

It was just too much to think about. So he didn't. The guard was still watching him, a confused, but almost hopeful expression on his face, like he was desperate for a hero of old to simply fly down out of the sky and hand him a miracle, and Superboy just couldn't _do _it and wouldn't pretend otherwise. So all he said was, "No. Now let us in. My friend..." He shifted Wally, still wrapped up in blankets and with only his head visible, just enough so they could understand just how important this was. "He needs help. Now."

The guard that had spoken before was apparently elected to be the spokesperson for the rest of them, after a quick glance around. He was the only one to lower his weapon, while the rest of them kept them carefully trained on Superboy as he moved forward towards the gate, for all the good it would do them. "I...sorry, son, but we can't let him through like that—"

Superboy's eyes narrowed dangerously. " 'Like that'? He's sick. He needs _medicine. _Are you going to turn us away?"

The guard waved his hands placatingly, and looked sympathetic when he said, "Well, I can probably let you through, you look just fine. But Su—kid, we can't let anybody been bit through. It just ain't healthy for everyone inside, see?"

A feeling of dread iced over in Superboy's chest at the words. He remembered passing through New Batcave's gates after a rigorous search that he'd hated every minute of, and asking Wally that simple question: _What would have happened if one of us got infected?_

_They wouldn't get to come in._

The subdued, haunted tone in Wally's answer had been enough to make him stop asking, and put a chill up his spine at the same time. And these people thought...

But they were wrong. "He wasn't bitten," Superboy snapped back, more defensively than intended. "He's just _sick._"

"Here that a lot," one of the other guards said, less sympathetically than the first. "Still can't let you pass."

Superboy's eyes narrowed. "He _wasn't _bitten," he growled, more aggressively this time. If they'd been familiar with him at all, the warning tone in his voice would have been enough to make them rethink their actions. "He's just _sick. _You have zed dogs? Bring them out. You'll see."

"Kid, we really _can't,_" the first guard said grimly. "I'm sorry, but—"

"But if you keep pushing this, we'll have to push back," the second guard said flatly. He gestured with his weapon. "Most of us don't like the angel shot policy, but we'll still do it to protect everyone inside."

Angel shot. _They wouldn't get to come in. _

They _wouldn't—_except, Superboy realized, they _would. _And it wasn't really their fault completely—they were protecting a fragile community from a very evil infection—but they were _idiots, _all of them, and he wasn't going to stand for it anymore.

So he shifted Wally very, very carefully to one arm, cradling him close and shifting his body so that even if these idiots _did _try to shoot, they'd be hitting Connor. And with his free hand he reached out and, without so much as looking at what he was doing, slammed his curled fist into the stone wall bordering the thick metal gate into the colony. He barely felt the impact on his impervious skin, but his fist burrowed deep before he withdrew it, and he heard the sharp snap of stone as spiderwebs of cracks spread out halfway up its surface, heard the fist-sized chunks of rock thumping to the ground.

The guards were all staring again, wide-eyed at his display of strength. Superboy turned to meet the first one eye to eye, his icy eyes burning with barely contained fury. "You know," he said slowly, precisely, the low rumble in his voice predatory and dangerous, "_exactly _what I can do to this place. You know that was _nothing. _And if you do not stop being _idiots _and _help him, _I will tear this place down around you _brick. By. Brick._"

The guards paled. The more argumentative one swallowed, but said after a moment, "We'll shoot you first."

Superboy snorted once; it was as good as a laugh to him. "It won't do you any good. You'll just waste your ammo. More importantly, you'll make me _mad. _And if you hurt my friend in the shootout..." He shifted Wally again, away from the muzzles of the guns as much as he could. "Well. Same promise applies, no matter _how _you morons kill him."

The men were silent for about thirty seconds. They still kept their weapons trained on Superboy's head out of habit, but were glancing back and forth between each other nervously. Superboy kept his gaze unrelentingly firm on the first guard, teeth bared as though ready for battle, every muscle in his body tense. If they really tried it...but no. The first guy, at least, had sense. Superboy listened to his heart patter nervously, and then after a moment the guard ordered, "Somebody go get a pair of zed dogs. If he passes we'll let'em in. Fair?"

"Hurry," was Superboy's only answer. The man nodded, sweating slightly, and looked like he wished Connor would look anywhere but at him. Probably he was fully expecting to get a blast of heat vision any moment. Well, Connor wouldn't dispel that particular lie, at least for the moment.

The dogs arrived quickly with their handlers. Connor wasn't worried about passing, and stepped between the creatures still carrying Wally without so much as a whine or a bark from either of them. The guards seemed stunned, and the more argumentative one looked a little ill when he realized just how close they'd come to serious trouble over nothing at all. Connor ignored him, stepped past without giving him so much as a look as they cracked open the metal doors to give him access to the colony. The only thing he said to any of them was, "I need a guide to whatever medical facility you have."

The guard that had sort-of recognized him escorted Superboy himself.

It was only once he'd fully stepped inside and was halfway through the colony trailing after his guide, not even paying attention to his other surroundings, that he realized it. They'd made it. It hit him suddenly, in a twisted combination of shock and exhilaration and stress and exhaustion. They'd _made _it. They'd done the impossible. Wally was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and they'd made it _here _against all odds. They'd made it and Wally _had _to survive, he had to, they had access to the help he needed and it would be the worst joke in the world for him to die here and now.

It was ironic really; Superboy had just run over a hundred miles in a bare two and a half days, carrying his friend the entire way to try and save him. By any definition of the term, new age or old, it was a heroic act. And now that they were there and there was nothing more that he could do he'd never felt so useless in his life.

But they'd made it. He'd done something worthy of the title of a hero and didn't even care. He'd given his friend a fighting chance.

_That _was all that mattered.


End file.
